


Mysteries of Music

by Snowflake19



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Historical References, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22736869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowflake19/pseuds/Snowflake19
Summary: A strange, haunting melody leads Chloe Beale into the forest, where her life will take a turn for the strange...
Relationships: Chloe Beale & Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Comments: 66
Kudos: 155





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is something entirely different from the stuff I normally write. It’s somewhat experimental, I started it a few months ago. I have a vague idea of where it is going, but I’ve got a lot of ground to cover before it’s finished. I’m just posting this first chapter because… well, I’m not certain it’s worth finishing? Like, if it’s something people are interested in reading. 
> 
> Sooo, let me know, and we’ll see where it goes!

_Oxfordshire, England, 1587_

Chloe could see the white wisps of breath even in the darkness of her room. She’d waken up from a horrible nightmare in which she had lost her head to the axeman. She blamed her father, of course, because he had been vividly describing the beheading of Mary, Queen of Scots, which he had been fortunate enough to witness during his travels.

When he’d described the event during dinner, Chloe’s stomach had roiled, and her mother had been quite right to tell him this was not an appropriate tale to be told in the presence of a five-year old little girl.

Her father had regarded Chloe for a long moment before deciding her mother was right.

Now, sitting at the edge of her bed, still breathing heavily, she too thought her mother had been right. She was about to lay down again when something strange piqued her attention. It sounded like… music.

Her mother sometimes played the harp, but not very well, and this was most assuredly not a harp. Chloe wasn’t sure why, but before she knew it, her little legs were carrying her down the stairs, careful not to wake up her parents or her nanny.

The front door was bolted, and too heavy for little Chloe to open anyway. The reading room window, on the other hand, was easy to unlock. It took some monumental effort, but eventually Chloe landed on the lawn, so focused on the music she still heard that she did not notice her broken nail, her skidded knee, or the fact that her nightgown had gotten caught while climbing through the window, and was now tattered and frayed at the bottom.

The woods had always scared her – even during daytime. Yet, following the music, Chloe marched through the bushes, and was soon surrounded on all sides by trees. She did not know why she kept following the music, or where she was going, and did not even think about how she’d ever get back.

Her feet were dirty and muddied, her once-white nightgown now smudged with greys and browns and greens. Her hair had come loose from her bun, flowing behind her freely, and repeatedly getting caught on thorny branches and brambles.

Still, Chloe walked on, unfazed, following the music further into the forest. Even though she couldn’t see two feet in front of her, Chloe felt like the music was leading her. To where she could not say, but never did she feel like she was lost.

That is, until she reached a clearing in the forest – quite deep in the forest – and the music suddenly ceased. Chloe looked around, as if suddenly waking up from a dream, wondering where she was and why she had come here. She had been vaguely aware of everything she did, yet now it all seemed stupendously silly.

Dangerous, even.

She felt tears prickling at her eyes. She wanted her mommy, her daddy, her nanny. Anyone. She would be lost in these woods forever, eaten by wolves or bears or witches! The first sob had just broken free when something rustled in the tree behind her, startling her into turning around.

There was a woman sitting in the tree, as if it was entirely ordinary for her to be doing so. What was even stranger is that the woman was not wearing a dress, but instead wore a man’s trousers and shirt, yet did not feel self-conscious at all.

“You should not be here,” the woman scowled, looking down at her.

Chloe, for all of her five-year-old bravado, put her hands on her hips and huffed. “I don’t want to be here!” she told the strange woman, who seemed a little younger than her mother, but not much.

“Then why are you here?” the brown-haired stranger asked, making no move to vacate the tree.

“I followed the music,” Chloe answered honestly, because why should she lie to this person?

“The… I see,” the woman hummed, after which she let out a deep, unladylike sigh. “You should not have been able to hear the music, little one.”

“Why?”

“Because it was not meant for you,” came the dismissive response.

“Why?” Chloe asked again.

“Because you’re too young to hear it,” the stranger in the tree tried to explain.

“Why?” Chloe repeated, not understanding any of this.

“Because… Because I say so!” the woman told her, quite meanly.

“I don’t like you,” Chloe decided out loud.

“I’m not particularly fond of you, either,” the woman told her sternly. “Now go on home, little bird,” she told her.

“I…” Chloe felt another sob building inside her. “I don’t know how…” she sniffled, making the woman roll her eyes – Chloe figured this woman never had a mother to teach her how a proper lady should behave – and huff out her breath.

After a long silence, the woman in the tree got to her feet. “Just… follow the music, little bird,” she told little Chloe. The girl was about to tell the strange woman that there _was_ no music to follow when a harsh wind whipped around her, forcing her eyes closed against the stinging sand.

When she opened them again, the woman was gone. Seconds later, the charming melody that had led her here could be heard again, coming from… the direction Chloe had come from.

It seemed to take forever for Chloe to make her way back from where she started. Yet, with the music spurring her on, leading her along the right path, Chloe felt peaceful, and unhurriedly trudged through the dark forest.

She was about to cry out when the music faded away again. She was still in the woods, and there was nothing but darkness around her, and without the music, the woods were scary and dangerous and there were wild animals that could come out to eat her at any moment.

She was about to cry out to the peculiar woman that had told her to follow the music in the first place, when she heard something.

“Chloe! Chloe can you hear me?” Moments later, she heard more voices echoing her name, and then there were lights in the distance, and she cried out in joy, relieved to be back in familiar surroundings.

“Over here! I’ve found her!” someone called, stomping towards her and easily lifting her small frame out of the mud. “Are you okay, little Miss Beale?”

She barely managed a nod, watching her father running towards her. He looked happy to see her, but he also looked livid.

When they reached their home, Chloe had thought up an elaborate cover story, about a man with a scar, who had taken her from her room and tossed her through the window of the reading room, dragging her off into the forest while he muttered to himself about Lord Beale and all his evil schemes.

Lord Beale had no reason to doubt his little girl, and the men of the village sought for days, wanting revenge on the man that had taken the Lord’s daughter from her room so audaciously. A passing vagrant was eventually found guilty, and everyone forgot about it again soon.

A few weeks later, Chloe too had forgotten all about the incident in the woods. She wouldn’t remember the woman for years to come, and if she sometimes heard a faintly familiar tune in her sleep, that was easily written off to piano lessons and choir practices.

\--

_Oxfordshire, England, 1607_

Staring at the beautiful white dress, resting on the mannequin in the corner of her bedroom, Chloe wanted nothing more than to burn it to cinders. She detested the dress, and everything it represented. She had always wanted to marry, but never like this.

Certainly, Thomas – Tom for his friends – was a good match. He stood to inherit his father’s printing empire, and a sizeable fortune with it. He was good-looking, polite, and the kind of sophisticated you only found amongst high-society.

Chloe hated him with as much passion as she was supposed to love him.

They’d met three times, during which he had given no indication of being interested in anything other than her looks, and her ability to provide him with offspring. He made her skin crawl when, during a stroll in her father’s gardens, he’d made a grab for her backside, impeded as he was by her skirts.

And next week, she was to marry the man.

She was startled when she realized she was humming a long-familiar tune under her breath. Afraid of waking her parents, she silenced herself, idly wondering where the melody had come from. She couldn’t recall having played anything of the sort on the piano in the music room as of late, nor was it one of the songs church choir had performed.

She was so focused on the riddle, it took her a while to realize the haunting melody hadn’t stopped, even though she herself was now quiet. It sounded like it came from outside, a majestic combination of flute, piano, and something she could not quite place.

Pushing the curtain aside a smidge, she looked out to find the lawn empty. For a moment, she had thought Thomas might be serenading her – which was as humorous a thought as marrying him was a revolting one.

Yet the music did not let up, leading her to open her window. The melody did not grow any louder when she did, which was odd. It sounded like it came from right in front of her, yet at the same time it seemed to have traveled across such a vast distance, Chloe could not even fathom its age.

She only realized she was standing outside when she pushed the front door closed behind her. She shivered in the cool night air. Even in summer, nights were not warm enough for her to be traipsing around in her nightgown, barefoot as she was.

Feeling the grass and sand between her toes, she crossed the lawn swiftly, easily jumping over the fence her father had placed sometime during her childhood. She vaguely recalled there had been some incident, back then. People told her she’d been _taken_ , and though she could not remember anything of the sort, it always rubbed her the wrong way when the story was told.

Her bonnet caught on a low-hanging tree, ending up in a muddy pool behind her. Chloe continued on unfazed, barely taking the time to wipe her fiery red hair from her face. With every step she took, deeper into the forest, she felt her mind becoming clearer.

After five minutes of walking, now quite deeper in the forest than she thought she had ever been, she started remembering a night similar to this one, so very, very long ago. She _hadn’t_ been taken, she now knew. She’d set off into the forest of her own accord. Following the music, the same music she was following now.

She also remembered making up the story about the man who took her, her father believing her implicitly, and the innocent man that had been sentenced for the crime she had made up.

Anything that happened in between entering the forest, and exiting it, however, was still foggy.

Reaching a clearing, Chloe stopped dead in her tracks, looking up at the moon above, clear and bright, wondering what in tarnation she was doing in the middle of a god-forsaken forest far past midnight.

“Hello, little bird,” an amused voice sounded from behind her, and instantly, Chloe recalled the stranger she had met before. Surely enough, turning around, she found the same brunette, looking exactly the same as she had twenty years ago, sitting in the tree. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she smiled down at her.

Mirroring her actions from twenty years ago unknowingly, Chloe put her hands on her hips. “I thought you didn’t like me?” she questioned, eyes narrowed.

The woman shrugged. “You were a little whiny, that much is true.”

“I was _five_ ,” Chloe responded indignantly.

“Which is why you weren’t supposed to be here, then,” the woman in the tree nodded solemnly. “You’re much less whiny now.”

“I should hope so,” Chloe scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest. “Who are you, anyway?”

The woman pursed her lips, seeming in thought for a moment. “That… is a very complicated question. Can’t we start off with something simpler?”

“What am I doing here?” Chloe tried.

“Well, you sure know how to pick them,” the brunette smirked – actually _smirked_ – at her.

“Okay, how about this… Were you making the music that led me here?”

“Yes,” the brunette answered immediately. “Though I wasn’t certain it would lead you here.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It’s complicated,” the woman said again. “Music… serves a purpose. It’s not just entertainment, but something far more… primal. The fact you heard my song, and followed it here… it means something.”

Chloe sighed, rolling her eyes – a habit she now _finally_ knew the origins of – figuring there was not much use for ladylike mannerisms in the middle of the forest. “I repeat, what does that even mean?!”

“I’m not entirely certain,” the woman admitted, looking as perplexed by that as Chloe felt. “I was very surprised when you showed up here, twenty years ago. Today, strangely enough, not so much. I had a feeling we’d see each other again, little bird.”

Chloe looked the woman up and down. “I’m pretty sure I’m taller than you are,” she muttered dryly. “Why didn’t you grow?”

“Excuse me?” the woman in the three asked, clearly affronted.

“I just mean- You look _exactly_ how I remember you.”

The woman rolled her eyes at Chloe, as if it was a really dumb question. The redhead was fairly certain it wasn’t, though. “Yeah, well, it’s only been twenty years,” she murmured from on high. Looking down again, her smile morphed into something sly. “You’ve changed plenty, though.”

“Yes, it _has_ been twenty years,” Chloe quipped back, smiling as the woman laughed freely. “Still don’t know why I’m here, though?”

The woman got up, standing on the branch, which didn’t even seem to be weighed down by the person. “Well, I’ve been playing my song steadily for the past fifteen years. As to why you’ve heard it tonight-“

“I heard it before,” Chloe interrupted, realizing that strange melody had lingered in the back of her mind for as long as she could remember. She’d heard it, before, in the minutes after waking up, or right before going to bed. “I just thought I had imagined it.”

“Like I was saying,” the woman smirked down at her. “As to why you’ve heard it tonight, and came out here… I can only guess this is a… Hm… a crossroads of sorts.”

“I… don’t understand,” Chloe admitted, watching the woman’s smirk turn into a more genuine smile.

“Tell me, little bird, is there something happening in your life at the moment? Something big, something you’re maybe not happy about?”

Chloe’s mind flashed to the dress in her bedroom, the impending wedding, _Thomas_ and his grabby hands.

“Now that is the look of a woman needing help,” the brunette smiled gently.

She might have considered it strange, this sudden urge to unload on this woman, who had apparently been sitting in that tree for twenty years. Might have, had she not been forced to bottle her feelings up, push it all down lest a wrong word slip past her lips and upset her parents, who had worked so hard for this union, and who wanted it to be so.

“I am to be married next week,” Chloe huffed.

“Congratulations?” the brunette offered meekly.

“No!” Chloe practically yelled. “He is a swine. He leers at every woman he comes across, always peering down my bosom when he thinks I am not paying attention. He touches me inappropriately, drinks too much, eats like a hog, freely talks of other women when spending time with _me_! He is positively horrid!”

“Sounds like it,” the woman in the tree nodded. “Although I can’t blame him ogling you, or getting handsy. You are a very fine-“

“Do not even finish that sentence, or I will climb that tree and kick you out of it,” Chloe warned.

“Feisty,” the other woman laughed. “But I would never condone such behaviour. I take it your parents arranged this union?”

Chloe merely nodded, uncertain as to why she was even speaking of this.

The woman standing on the tree branch was silent for a long time, fiddling with a silver ring on her finger, before pulling it from her digit. “Catch,” she said, throwing the piece of jewellery down.

Chloe did catch it, finding it to be a silver ring, with a small pitch-black stone set in its centre. It looked positively ancient. “I know now why you came here tonight,” the woman told her, forcing Chloe’s attention back to her. “There are two paths open to you from here on out. Either you go about your life, marry the man of your nightmares, and live your life the way it is supposed to be lived…”

“Or?” Chloe asked, hesitantly.

“Or, you wear my ring,” the brunette responded, sounding as hesitant as Chloe. “In which case your marriage will not come to pass. Whatever is in store for you in the future, should you choose this path, I cannot say. Time will tell.”

Chloe looked back down at the ring, weighing her options. Anything had to be better than marrying Thomas, she figured, but this was some strange scene she found herself in. “How will your ring make a difference?”

“It just will,” the shorter woman told her, awkwardly shuffling her foot over the tree’s bark.

“You’re… you’re not human, are you?” Chloe asked, already knowing the answer, even though it was completely absurd.

In the blink of an eye, the woman was gone, and Chloe instinctively knew her to be standing behind her. Turning around confirmed this, the woman standing about three feet away, now level with Chloe. “Told you I was taller,” she smiled.

“Whatever,” the smaller woman scoffed. “I’m older. Much, much older.”

“I figured as much,” Chloe nodded with a sigh. “So not human, then.”

“Not human,” the other woman confirmed solemnly.

Fiddling with the ring in her hands, Chloe considered everything she’d learned tonight. “Before I make a decision… Can you at least tell me your name?”

The brunette smiled, taking a wavering step towards her. “Beca.”

“Beca,” Chloe repeated. “Well then, _Beca_ ,” she continued, before slipping the ring over her finger. “I hope you know what you’re talking about.”

\--

The following morning, Chloe remembered everything vividly. She was still coming to terms with everything that had transpired when she and her parents noticed the commotion on the square ahead of them.

They found a crowd of angry villagers, jeering and yelling at Chloe’s fiancée, who sported a bruised eye, as well as several missing teeth and a bloodied nose. “Whatever is going on here!?” Lord Beale barked, drawing everyone’s attention to them. “Thomas, boy, who did this?”

“That would be me, Jonathan,” the church leader muttered, stepping forward with a bandaged hand. “After I found that boy with his head under my wife’s skirts this morning.”

Chloe gasped in shock, because even she had not expected such behaviour from the man she was supposed to marry. Her shock grew far greater, though, when her father too took a swing at the man, hitting him straight across the face. “I cannot believe we let you near our daughter,” he spat. “Come, Chloe, we will find you a more suitable match.”

Following her parents demurely, Chloe could not help the gentle smile overtaking her features as she twisted the ring on her finger a few times.

“Thank you, Beca,” she whispered to herself.


	2. Chapter 2

_Oxfordshire, England, 1607_

It had been two months since Chloe’s trip into the forest and the subsequent breaking off of her engagement. Back then, she’d been content. She did not know what her future would hold for her, but it could not be much worse than marrying that horrid Tom.

Now she was standing in the middle of a cemetery, half the city gathering behind her to pay their last respects to her parents. It didn’t make sense, Chloe lamented. Two lives ended, and for what? A handful of coins and jewellery.

The world was a cruel place.

She had been too distraught to focus on all of the technicalities of her parents’ deaths. She’d been lost in her grief, letting others plan the funeral and all that it entailed.

People kept telling her they were so sorry for her loss. Some had the audacity to suggest that inheriting her father’s fortune might make it all a little more bearable. As if money could replace her parents.

And to make it all worse, there was no music. Whoever had been in charge of planning the funeral ceremony had planned in dozens of speeches, but not a single piece of music.

It made the gathering of black-clad people under their black umbrellas, to shield them from the rain, all the more sombre. Her mother had always loved music. She’d hate this stuffy, self-important speech-laden ceremony.

Another speech ended, one of her father’s business partners moving back into the crowd of grieving people. Chloe audibly gasped when, suddenly, the haunting sound of a violin pierced the air. Not so much because there _was_ music, but more so because she _recognized_ the music.

Looking around from underneath her black lace veil, she spotted a woman in a black dress, hat sporting a veil similar to her own, playing an intricate looking string instrument. Even though the woman was wearing a dress, rather than the provocative trousers Beca had worn in the woods, and even though Chloe couldn’t see her face or hair, she _knew_ the music to be Beca’s.

She was glad that everyone around her could hear the music too, and she couldn’t help a soft smile when she noticed that the music was driving the majority of them to tears. When one piece seamlessly flowed into the next, no one objected.

And then, with a dip of her head and something akin to a curtsy, the woman tucked her instrument away and left, disappearing form view behind one of the many mausoleums.

It wasn’t until after the ceremony, the coffins having been lowered into the ground, when Chloe was left alone at the cemetery. The rain was still coming down, drowning all of the sounds out, and keeping her from seeing more than a few feet ahead of her.

“I’m so sorry, Chloe,” came a sudden voice from beside her.

Chloe nodded her head with a sad smile. “I was wondering when I’d see you again,” she muttered, finding Beca standing next to her, still entirely in black, but now in a well-fitted suit, rather than the dress from before. “Thank you, for the music.”

“It was the least I could do,” Beca shrugged, seeming to feel out of place here, in the city. “How are you doing?”

“I’ve been better,” Chloe admitted weakly. “It’s… I don’t think it’s really hit me yet, though.”

Beca awkwardly reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. The moment they made physical contact, Chloe felt something inside of her break, and suddenly all her emotions, and all her tears were spilling.

Throwing her arms around Beca, Chloe buried her face against the other woman’s shoulder. Beca’s arms came up to hold her tightly, offering a modicum of solace. Chloe felt like she cried for days, but it was probably only a few hours, Beca never urging her to let go of her, or hurry up, or get it together.

“Thank you, Beca,” she eventually sniffled, drying her eyes.

“Anytime, little bird,” the brunette told her with a sad smile. Giving Chloe’s hand a final squeeze, she turned towards the graves. “I’m afraid this might be my fault,” she eventually muttered, unable to look Chloe in the eye anymore.

“You…” Chloe started, before decisively shaking her head. “You didn’t stab my parents.” She couldn’t have.

“True,” Beca sighed. “But I gave you my ring, and it altered the course of your life… Your engagement was broken off, as I predicted, but… I didn’t imagine something like this would happen. I told you, back in the woods, that I couldn’t see what your future would hold… If I’d known…”

“Beca,” Chloe stopped her, linking their arms together. “My parents were stabbed by someone out for their money. It’s his fault, not yours. You can’t see the future, you said so yourself. This… this might have happened, regardless of the choices we made, months ago.”

“It might have,” Beca admitted slowly. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t still my responsibility…”

Fiddling with the silver ring, still sitting on her hand, Chloe bit her lip. “We all make choices, Beca. Whether you’re human or not, after making a choice, you’re left to deal with its consequences.”

“I should go,” Beca smiled sadly.

“Will I see you again?” Chloe asked, uncertainly.

“Eventually,” Beca smiled, squeezing the redhead’s hand one last time, before stepping out in the rain. It took only three steps for Chloe to lose sight of her.

Seventy-four hours later, the local trapper found the body of a local thug and drunkard. It appeared he’d hung himself from the branches of a large oak tree, majestically standing at the edge of a clearing in the woods. A search of his home uncovered stolen gold and jewellery that was lead back to three years’ worth of muggings and break-ins, including the fatal mugging of Lord and Lady Beale.

When news of this development reached Chloe Beale, officials found the woman to be in peculiar spirits. She was grieving of course, but even in grief, it was strange for her to tell them she knew of the clearing, and to thank some strange woodland spirit.

Then again, grief did do strange things to a person. All Chloe Beale needed to get better was time, and maybe a sensible husband.

\--

_Oxfordshire, England, 1608_

Except, Chloe Beale did not get better over time.

The woman regained her usual sunny disposition, this was true enough. But, at night, she was often seen traversing the woods, by herself. Some believed her to meet up with a secret lover, and while people did not condone such behaviour, they also realized well-enough that it was not their business to pry.

But when a trapper overheard Miss Chloe Beale speaking with another woman – a woman he could not _see_ – the public opinion turned more grim. Miss Beale was soon considered to be a worshipper of dark arts, joining woodland demons at night to do… whatever woodland demons did.

And over time, people began ascribing the death of her parents’ killer to the woodland demon, too. And then every little misfortune that befell the citizenry was ascribed to this demon, until the entire city had worked itself into a panicked frenzy.

It was, then, not entirely unexpected, when things escalated.

\--

_Oxfordshire, England, 1614_

Over the course of six years, Chloe only saw Beca three times. The brunette had told her she’d always be there when Chloe needed her – actually really needed her – and this had proven true. During times of change in Chloe’s life, or great emotional turmoil, she only needed to follow the music to find solace.

She was still no closer to knowing _what_ Beca was exactly, and as time went by, more and more questions started to arise. Such as why, at the age of thirty-three, she still looked exactly the same as she had back when she met Beca for the second time, now almost eight years ago.

Beca must have noticed it too, Chloe thought, even though her perception of time must be wildly different from her own. Last time they had met, Beca had earnestly and seriously told Chloe that she had to leave – not just the forest, but Oxfordshire in general. People had started taking too much of an interest in Chloe’s night time wandering in the woods, and they, too, had to have noticed Chloe _didn’t age_.

Reluctantly, Chloe had made all the preparations necessary. Yet, she could not find it within herself to leave her home, to leave Beca, and thus she was still here, where she had always been. Sleeping in her own, familiar bed.

Waking up from her sleep in a daze, Chloe immediately heard the music. It wasn’t the music she was used to, though. Beca always played soft, haunting melodies to lure her to the forest. This music was chaotic, out of tune. It seemed to scream danger, and thus Chloe was spurred into movement and out of bed.

A quick glimpse out the window confirmed Chloe’s worst fears – the woods were on fire, crackling and burning wildly. It hadn’t rained properly for weeks, allowing the fire to grasp at the dry wood and feed itself into a frenzy.

Even worse, though, were the drunkards standing on her property, torches in hand, cheering and singing. In the few minutes she watched, Chloe noticed them making their way towards the manor, and she had no doubt about their intentions.

Looking around her room, she quickly removed her nightgown, exchanging it for her riding clothes. She was relieved at having moved nearly all of her furniture out of here already, her belongings now safely stored in a warehouse in Devon.

The music spurred her on, down the stairs, out of the house, into the stables, onto her horse, and out. She galloped away, sparing a glance over her shoulder and seeing the men coming to a stop in front of her childhood home.

Moments later, she came to an abrupt stop with a pained cry.

The music had stopped. Not just faded away, but stopped abruptly, mid-note, as if cut off. The emptiness that replaced it gave Chloe a fairly good idea of the cause of the silence.

And if it had not, the sight of the burning woods, wildfire growing ever larger, would have…


	3. Chapter 3

_Plymouth, England, 1620_

It had been six years since Chloe had been forced to flee her home, leaving behind everything she’d ever known. Leaving behind everything she’d ever loved. Six years, and she was still dressed in mourning, the entirety of her wardrobe consisting of black dresses.

After the death of her parents, she’d dressed in mourning for two months. Had she not been hurting so much even now, she would feel guilty about mourning Beca so much longer than her own parents. But the pain in her heart never lessened, never dulled.

The woods had burned for two days straight, scarring the land as far as her eyes could see, and certainly farther than the instigators could ever have expected. She’d read that three of them had died in the fire, while in the midst of looting her manor. Irony, she figured, since there had been absolutely nothing of value left. Still, they deserved it.

Once the fire had died down, she’d explored the remains of the forest. The ground had been dry, covered in ashes, and the charred skeletons of trees that had once been full of life. It had been eerily silent, no sounds of birds or squirrels or insects buzzing in the air.

No music, either, she’d lamented.

A part of Beca’s favourite tree had still been standing, the sturdy oak, amongst the largest in the woods, having weathered mankind’s cruelty. Even if it now only stood as a sad reminder of the beauty it once held. Amidst its roots, Chloe had found the charred remains of a small human, and she had sat beside it, crying, screaming, shrieking, until sunrise.

Until the monsters that had done this would wake again and find her.

Six years, Chloe spent traveling the country. It had always been a wish of hers, to travel, see the world. But now, it was out of necessity more so than desire. Word of the events surrounding her had travelled far and wide, and stating in once place tended to garner her more attention than she was comfortable with.

Her father’s fortune, luckily, sustained her well enough.

She spent some time in London, catching the eye of many a gentleman, all of whom she told she was in mourning for her late husband. No one batted an eye at widows turning down eligible husbands. It was, after all, only proper.

When London’s high society became too smothering, too prying, for comfort, Chloe left the city, traveling north all the way to Edinburgh, where the cycle started anew. After Edinburgh came York, and then Newcastle, Winchester, Cambridge, and finally Plymouth.

And all across her travels, Chloe was miserable. She felt empty. She had lost Beca, which had hurt more than it had a right to. After all, they’d only met a handful of times.

But she had also lost music, which she had loved for as long as she could remember. Since that fateful night, Chloe hadn’t heard a single note of music. No melody, no tune. It wasn’t that there was no music around her – Chloe could see people playing instruments. She could hear the sound they made.

But it wasn’t music.

And here, in Plymouth, Chloe had come to the startling realization she needed a change. A fresh start, somewhere that didn’t remind her of home all the time, and where she didn’t have to be afraid of running into someone who remembered the Beale name.

Here, in Plymouth, she’d caught wind of a ship heading to the New World. She’d sought out the captain, who was easily persuaded by a sad story and a handful of gold. And so, before she’d realized it, she’d booked passage to the New World.

“Miss Beale, we are ready to board our passengers,” a crewman behind her informed her.

With a wistful sigh, Chloe cast one last look at the kingdom that had been her home for thirty-three years. She was not surprised she felt nothing as she stepped aboard the _Mayflower_ , knowing that England held nothing for her any longer.

\--

_Plymouth Colony, New World, 1620_

Looking down the hill, Chloe could still make out the _Mayflower_ , bobbing up and down in the harbour. Lord, how she hated that ship.

The journey to the New World had taken two months, which equalled two months of cold, misery, hunger and fearing for her life. The weather hadn’t been kind to them during their voyage, and before they were halfway, the ship had been damaged severely.

Honestly, it was a miracle they’d made it, even though their captain, apparently, never doubted they would.

So here she was, in the New World. It had been silly, she now realized. Silly to think things would be any better here. Silly to think that a new continent would make her pain go away. Sadness like the one she carried around could not just be left ashore. She should have realized that, before making this journey.

Her fellow voyagers had been so eager to get their colony up and running, but Chloe had never had the intention to be a part of their colony. Then again, she hadn’t had any intention, other than running away from her feelings…

Her belongings would be brought over in a few weeks, according to the captain, as would her money. Unbeknownst to everyone, Chloe had been the wealthiest passenger on the _Mayflower_ , for all the good that had done her.

She had taken a stroll to get away from the people she’d been stuck with for months, away from the hustle and bustle of the village at the foot of the hill. Now, she was wondering whether there was any use in going back…

She had just made a decision when the winds shifted. Where the breeze had come from sea seconds ago, it now suddenly blew the exact opposite way, rolling over the lush woodlands behind her. As if it were divine intervention, the winds carried a tune so painfully familiar, it instantly brought tears to Chloe’s eyes.

Without thinking about appearances or propriety, Chloe rushed into the forest, her skirt getting caught on thorns, her hands being scraped when she caught herself tripping over loose rocks. Later, she would make up a story about getting lost in the woods. Now, she was frantically running towards the music, tears blurring her vision and impeding her progress. Yet, always moving towards the music.

She did not end up at a clearing, and that was so unexpected Chloe, for the briefest of moments, believed her imagination to be playing tricks on her. Until-

“Hello little bird.”

The familiar voice knocked the wind out of her, leaving her winded and disoriented as she whipped around, finding Beca leaning against a tree next to a small brook, arms crossed and giving her that sly half-smile Chloe had grown to appreciate.

“Beca!” she gasped, mind unable to fathom what was going on. “You’re alive?”

Beca made a show of looking herself up and down. “Would seem so, wouldn’t it?”

“Lord smite you, Beca!” Chloe screamed. “Lord smite you into damnation!”

“I-“

“I thought you were dead!” Chloe continued at the top of her lungs. “You let me believe you were dead for six years! I mourned you, Beca. Look at me, I’m still mourning you, and you’ve been prancing around here in the New World all this time!”

There was a lot more Chloe would have liked to yell at the other woman, but the music surrounding them became so loud that it drowned out her words, leaving her mute and shrivelling under Beca’s intense gaze. “Will you finally let me speak, woman?”

At Chloe’s nod, the music dimmed again, turning into a mellow backdrop for their conversation. “It’s good to see you again. I never meant for you to believe I had died. I’m… not entirely certain why you thought so in the first place.”

“Your music, the way it ceased when the fire…”

The brunette nodded slowly. “Yes, I see. I had to make my escape once I knew you were a safe distance away. I’m not sure if the fire could have killed me, but I was unwilling to take the risk.”

“You never contacted me,” Chloe accused, eyes narrowed.

“I tried, though,” Beca countered. “I played my music, non-stop, anywhere I thought you might have ended up. I do not know the reach of my music, though. And you, it seems, never stayed in one place for very long.”

“I did not, indeed,” Chloe admitted. “I did spend a great deal of time in major cities.”

“Then you should have heard me,” Beca mused out loud, biting her lip in thought. “I can only image that your grief was so intense… your sorrow might have drowned out my music.”

“Why are you here?” Chloe asked. “In the New World?”

Beca looked at her as if it was an odd inquiry. “You are here, are you not?”

“Yes?”

“As long as you choose to wear my ring,” the woman told her, motioning towards the silver band. “There will be a connection between the two of us. It gave me a vague sense of your location, and when you travelled across the pond… I followed.”

“You were on the _Mayflower_?”

The smaller woman pulled a face. “Heavens, no. I’d not set foot aboard a ship, even for you.”

“Do you… Have you places to be?” Chloe asked, worrying her hands together.

“No,” Beca smiled easily, sitting down against the tree trunk and crossing her legs. “We have time.”

“I have missed you for so very long,” Chloe muttered, gently lowering herself next to Beca. “And I have so many questions… I do not even know where to start, or what to say.”

Beca smile, setting Chloe at ease. “Take your time. Just speak your mind when you are ready.”

The redhead smile at Beca’s words, thoughts coming to her mind readily. “I’m really glad to have you back.”

“Not a question,” the brunette chuckled, before making eye contact. “But I do agree wholeheartedly.”

“How do I look?” Chloe asked, biting her lip.

Beca’s smile morphed into a teasing grin. “A little bedraggled, to be honest.”

“That’s so not what I meant.”

“I know,” Beca admitted softly. “I imagine you wanted me to tell you that you still look as beautiful as you did eight years ago?”

Chloe ducked her head, blushing at the compliment, delivered so very earnestly. “I _was_ referring to the fact my appearance has not changed, yes,” she murmured quietly.

“It’s because of my ring,” Beca confided. “The connection between us lasts as long as you wear the ring. It holds a power that transcends time itself, so as long as I’m around, you will be too. Unless, of course, you _choose_ not to.”

“I’m immortal?” Chloe asked, eyes wide and feeling as if she landed in one of those outlandish plays or novels.

Beca shook her head, almost imperceptible. “No, I don’t think that’s quite right. You may not age, but you can still die. Remember me telling you to flee from Oxfordshire?”

“Right,” Chloe muttered. “But… provided no one kills me and I do not suffer some fatal accident…”

“You’d live to see the turn of another century,” Beca finished her sentence. “And another after that. Until, eventually, I am no longer around. Then, my ring will just be an ordinary thing.”

“When will that be?” Chloe asked. “I don’t care for the longevity. I just… What are you?”

Beca laughed, sounding uneasy. “I don’t know – to both of your questions.”

“How can you not know what you are?” Chloe frowned.

With a deep sigh, Beca seemed to be searching for words. “I don’t remember ever having been anything other than what I am now. I do not recall a childhood, parents, growth or progress. I don’t remember any friends or family – with the sole exception of present company.”

“That must be horrid,” Chloe muttered, taking Beca’s hands in her own. “You must have been so lonely.”

“I was, for a while,” Beca admitted silently. “But I got over that eventually. I’ve had centuries to ponder over my predicament, and eventually pieced together a thought that never left me.”

Knowing Beca would tell her whenever she was ready, Chloe remained silent, stroking her thumb up and down the back of Beca’s hands, warm and real in her own.

“I think I’m some sort of… anomaly. I don’t think I’m supposed to be here… Or rather, I don’t think I’m supposed to be _now_. For over a millennium now, I’ve felt like I did not belong in this time. Like I’m some cosmic error, displaced in time and just… waiting to fit in. Waiting for the world to catch up."

Chloe let the words sink in for a long moment, pondering what Beca meant. “What do you imagine will happen when that time comes? _Your_ time comes,” she eventually asked.

Beca shrugged, tense. “I suppose I’ll find out when that happens.”

Chloe shook her head, minute but decisive, making Beca frown.

“No, Beca. _We_ will find out when that happens. Together.”

The smile the ancient woman gave her sent the redhead’s heart a-flutter, forcing her to break eye contact due to the sheer discomfort she felt from the thought that had just passed through her head.

Still, seeing Beca finally calm down and unloosen, Chloe could not help but feel her words to be true.


	4. Chapter 4

_Plymouth Colony, New World, 1623_

As it happened, the people that founded the Plymouth Colony did not think Chloe strange. They had never heard the rumours that had plagued her back in Oxfordshire. Here, she was just Chloe Beale, a pious young widow with a talent for music.

A talent the colony was happy to have in their midst. Everyone in the colony had to pull his or her weight, and Chloe was no exception. Within weeks of her arrival in the New World, she was asked to be a music instructor, teaching the children in the colony to sing their psalms, and play their classical instruments.

And Chloe enjoyed every moment of doing so.

On a few occasions, the colony was visited by a traveling musician, with whom Miss Beale struck up an unusual but harmless friendship. The young woman would visit the colony maybe three times a year, and stay for only a few days.

During one those days, Miss Beale and the wandering musician would teach the children new songs, brought over from different colonies. The rest of the days, Miss Beale would call off all her classes, and would barely be seen around the village.

While some believed this to be strange, they had not fled the Kingdom only to continue its persecution in their new community. Miss Beale was, for the most part, left to her own business.

Over time, many a man in the colony took a fancy to the young widow, vying for her hand, even if she had very little to offer in terms of a dowry or station. Miss Beale, always a picture of sophisticated grace, would always let them down gently, with muttered apologies, sad smiles, and the ever continuing excuse of not being ready, and missing the love of her life too much.

While some considered it folly for the woman to be so hung up about her lost lover, most merely considered it romantic.

Chloe Beale was, for all intents and purposes, an important part of their community.

Until she wasn’t.

_Plymouth Colony, New World, 1625_

“Welcome back, stranger,” Chloe smiled, finding Beca sitting next to a small brook, feet dangling in the water. She had been following the music for the past twenty minutes, Beca having led her further away from the village than she usually would have.

Beca let herself fall backwards, hair loosely sprawled across the grass. “It is good to be back. I have missed you dearly.”

Chloe gently eased herself onto the grass next to Beca. “I am not the one who is always leaving,” she admonished with a smile. “Where do you go, anyway? When you are not here with me, I mean?”

Beca pulled a face that betrayed a mixture of horror and disgust, entirely unfit for a lady. Then again, Chloe had long ago figured out Beca was far from ladylike. “I travel around, trying to find books or texts or theories about… what I am.”

“Any luck?” Chloe asked with genuine intrigue.

“Not lately, no,” Beca lamented. “Last time I found something that somewhat hinted at my… ahem, ‘condition,’ was when I, foolishly, went into discussion with Plato and Aristotle.”

Chloe laughed at the brunette’s jest, before realizing she was earnest. “I sometimes forget you are not like me. You’ve lived for so long…”

“I have,” Beca sighed. “But you are becoming more like me with every passing day, Chloe. How old are you, now? You must be nearing forty, right?”

Chloe winced. “I’m thirty-eight, yes.”

“And still twenty-five,” Beca nodded slowly. “Speaking of which, have you received my letter?”

Chloe nodded, producing the letter from inside her skirts. “Yes, I had indeed. I’ve made all the arrangements, even though it will pain me to leave the village behind.”

Beca looked at the flowing water, pensive. “I suppose I know how you feel, in a way. I’ve had to leave so many people behind over time, I can’t even remember most of them. I tried so hard not to forget any of the friends I made, but over time they just… faded away.”

Chloe linked their arms, finding consolation in their joining. “I know why I must leave. If I do not, it will become another witch hunt. Oxfordshire all over again.”

Beca nodded her sad assent. “And this time, fleeing to another continent might not be possible.”

“When should I leave? And where should I go?”

“You have some time,” Beca responded. “You can take a few months to leave everything behind in a proper way. Say your goodbyes, find a replacement teacher for those kids out there,” she told her with a small smile. “As to where you should be going… You are entirely free to go wherever you please.”

“Where will you be going?” Chloe asked, because that was where she wanted to be as well.

“I’ll be wherever you are, Chloe,” Beca responded earnestly. “That is where I will always be.”

“There are many colonies out there,” Chloe mused out loud, looking off into the distance. “I suppose I shall take up residence a few colonies over. I should be alright there, for a few years.”

Beca nodded her agreement, and no more words were wasted on the matter. Instead, they spent hours discussing more pleasant business.

When the sun was dipping lower and lower in the sky, and it became time for the women to say their goodbyes for the time being, they stood from their spot and lingered awkwardly.

When Beca darted forward, pressing her lips to Chloe’s cheeks, she felt herself blushing like a school girl, kissed by the most handsome boy in her class. The quiver in her stomach repulsed her, she detested the breathlessness with which she said her goodbyes, and she hated the way her eyes traced up and down Beca’s body as the woman – again dressed in an outfit that was far more progressive than socially acceptable – sauntered off into the woods again.

These unnatural feelings had been developing for a while, Chloe knew. She had tried, over the months where she did not see Beca, to quell them. Push them down until they could be forgotten – but the ring on her finger, and the music in her head, always reminded her.

And every time she saw Beca, she knew she would never be able to change how she felt.

No matter how badly she might want to.

_Concord, Province of Massachusetts, 1637_

Concord was the fourth colony Chloe settled in. As it turned out, nearly every colony had need of a pious woman to teach music to their children, and to lead the church choir, and so Chloe was always welcomed with open arms.

Contact between the colonies was very limited, which meant that Chloe could usually stay at any given colony for a few years before being forced to move again, lest her lack of ageing would catch anyone’s attention.

And while Chloe had learned not to get too close to the inhabitants of the colonies she settled in, it didn’t mean leaving the life she built over and over again ever got easy. It was, in fact, quite the opposite: Chloe would be unspeakably sad, every time she had to leave the children she taught, and the friends she had unwittingly made, behind.

Beca would always visit Chloe, several times a year at random intervals. She, too, noticed the strain this lifestyle put on Chloe. When the time came for Chloe to begin preparations for yet another departure, the redhead was surprised to see Beca loitering in front of her cottage.

“Beca?” she asked breathlessly. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, little bird,” the brunette smiled, looking uncomfortable in her dress, even though it was obviously necessary for her to fit in with the crowd. “Would you invite me in?”

“Yes, of course!” Chloe responded without a doubt, opening the door for her long-time friend, and leading her into the sitting room, where a fire was quickly started in the fireplace. When Chloe turned around again, Beca was no longer wearing her dress, seamlessly having returned to her trousers and jacket – clothing of a time yet to come, Chloe figured.

“Why are you here? I don’t think I’ve seen you in a village or city since the funeral, back in England.”

Beca nodded, slow and measured. “I came here because I made a mistake. I came to… rectify it.”

“A… mistake?” Chloe asked, not liking the tone of Beca’s voice.

“Yes,” the brunette responded primly. “I need my ring back.”

In a reflex, Chloe’s hand shot to cover the jewellery, as if hiding it from Beca’s sight would make her forget about its existence. “You… You want it returned?”

Beca merely nodded, eyes focused on the hardwood floorboards.

“May I ask why?”

“It is better for everyone,” Beca muttered, barely audible over the crackling fire.

“Everyone except me,” Chloe countered, eyes glaring.

“Especially for you,” Beca snapped harshly. “Do you think I don’t see how much it pains you to live this life?”

“Beca, I-“

“I may not always be here, physically,” the brunette continued without allowing Chloe to speak. “But I can see the tears every time you have to rebuild your life. I can feel the dread that seizes you when that time comes around again, and you need to begin making preparations. And I can’t tell you not to move, because… if your secret gets out, you’ll be hunted. But… If you return my ring, you will age again. No one here in Concord will be any the wiser. You can live a normal life!”

“But I would live it without you,” Chloe finally whispered, knowing Beca would catch her words.

“Yes,” Beca nodded sadly. “And that would be better for you, too. The bond we share is a deep one, a special one… But it isn’t fair of me to keep you from the world around you. You haven’t even so much as looked at a man, even though eligible bachelors throw themselves at your feet!”

“I don’t need a man in my life to be happy, Beca,” Chloe sighed, unfastening her bonnet, and pulling the clips from her hair to let it fall free. “What I need in my life is _you_.”

“How can that be true, when I’m the cause of all your misery?” Beca lamented.

Chloe stepped forward, taking Beca’s hands in her own. “Beca, I will not lie to you. It is true that leaving yet another community behind pains me, and I will miss these people dearly. But, never have I felt as desperate after leaving a village as I felt when I thought – believed with fiery certainty – that I had lost you. It may not be perfect, but no life ever is. The pain of rebuilding my life over and over is nothing compared to the anguish of living my life without you in it.”

“You are certain of this?” Beca asked, quiet and fragile.

“Verily,” Chloe nodded. “If you want your ring returned because you no longer want to be around me, share your life with me, be connected with me… If that be the case, I shall return it to you. But if you ask it back because you believe it would be better for me, I respectfully decline.”

Beca took a deep breath, letting it out with a sad smile. “If that be the case, I suppose you should begin making preparations for another departure shortly.”

_Salem, Province of Massachusetts, 1692_

Chloe had imagined many things for her life. She hadn’t known which course it would take, but somehow, she had always felt she’d grow old with Beca – even if that was to happen centuries into the future.

She certainly did not imagine her life ending before the turn of the century. In the god-forsaken Puritan town of Salem, of all places.

It had been a matter of incredible misfortune, Chloe surmised. She had travelled halfway across the world to escape her past, and it had to be either cruel irony, or divine intervention, that allowed her past to catch up to her now.

She had settled in a cottage, a small distance away from Salem, where she frequented the church, and went to market. She had never conceived it be possible for someone who’d known her in Oxford to even still be alive – a thought that occasionally saddened her.

Yet, here in Salem, she had to run into young Billy Eldritch. He had been five when Chloe had been forced to flee her home in England, and he had visited her regularly for music lessons. Now, he was unreasonably old, just about withered away, really. Yet he held a prominent position in Salem, and when he denounced Chloe as a witch, the Puritan ministers never doubted him.

Chloe could not blame the boy – man. She was, after all, one-hundred-and-ten years old, and still looking exactly the same as ninety years ago. Little Billy Eidritch had seen her on the market square, looking like he’d seen a ghost. In some way, he had, Chloe figured.

If only that didn’t have to mean she’d be hung from the gallows in a few minutes.

Still, Chloe considered quietly, she’d lived a good life. A long, healthy life, in which she enriched lives through music, and her own life was enriched through Beca’s music – a sound that was now conspicuously absent.

Yes, all things considered, Chloe felt remarkably at peace with her fate.

“Witch! Witch! Witch! Hang the witch!” the crowd below her chanted, all angry faces, and Chloe felt sorry for them. To be so ignorant, so close-minded, that one voice could instil such hysteria.

“Chloe Beale,” the minister standing next to her yelled over the crowd as the hangman prepared the noose. “You stand accused of witchcraft, and worship of the dark arts, and are to be executed by hanging. Do you have any last words?”

Closing her eyes for a moment, Chloe considered the question. She didn’t have any last words planned, but leaving this world without saying anything did not feel quite right either. She opened her mouth, not knowing what words would spill from her lips.

In the end, it did not matter, either. Any words she might have spoken would have been blown away by the sudden gale, quite unfitting for this calm, summer’s day.

As hats and bonnets flew, and men and women alike clutched their hair and clothing to keep it from being carried away by the wind, Chloe closed her eyes again. She had been afraid to hope, but that had been silly. Of course she would not be alone on a day like this.

Beca had promised to be there whenever Chloe needed her. Really needed her.

She could help a smile when the soft melody that had dictated most of her life was carried on the wind, making the people below her look around in confusion and fear. “Witchcraft!” one of the ministers yelled, pointing an accusing finger at her.

The soft melody quickly grew louder, until it was a steady thumping of war drums, interspersed with chaotically shrill whistles that were both beautiful and frightening. Louder and louder the music grew, steadily growing stronger as the wind picked up in force, until the angry crowd was covering their ears, too concerned with the noise around them to focus on hanging the supposed witch responsible for it.

And there, behind the crowd, stood Beca. It wasn’t the sweet, caring Beca Chloe had come to know, though. This was a Fury, expression betraying her anger and dismay.

Still louder grew the music, forcing people to fall to their knees in desperation, wailing as they tried to block out the sound. And then Beca was suddenly standing on the wooden platform with Chloe, unnoticed by most, and unfazed by those that did.

“Come, little bird,” came her soft voice, too quiet to be heard, but resounding in Chloe’s ears nonetheless. “It is time for us to leave this place.”

Chloe gave a simple nod, finding her hands untied, and the red rash around her wrists fading as she looked on. The music reached its crescendo, loud enough to make people actually pass out in front of them. There was no doubt in Chloe’s mind that Beca was capable of doing much more harm, but a soft hand on her shoulder reeled her in, making the music soften for a moment.

“Close your eyes,” Beca told her with an uncertain smile. “I’m going to try something.”

Chloe trusted the brunette with her life, and had no qualms about doing as she was told. The moment she did, the music stopped abruptly – much like it had done back at the night of the Oxfordshire fire – but Beca’s hands were still warm and firm in her own.

When she opened her eyes again, Chloe felt the high grass tickling her calves. They were in a field of flowers, Salem visible far in the distance. “Thank you for saving me,” Chloe whispered, wrapping her arms around Beca’s small frame.

“Anything for you,” Beca murmured in return, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Neither of them made mention of the fact Beca’s lips touched upon the corner of Chloe’s mouth.


	5. Chapter 5

_Just outside Salem, Province of Massachusetts, 1692_

Watching Salem in the distance, Chloe was reluctant to let Beca’s hand go. They’d been standing, looking into the distance, for a while now, neither of them knowing what to do, where to go, or what to say.

“Chloe, are you well?” Beca asked eventually, voice unusually strained.

“Uh-huh,” Chloe muttered distantly, eyes still focused on the small smattering of buildings in the distance.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner,” Beca continued on. “I should’ve been there sooner.”

“It’s fine, Beca,” Chloe responded, still looking at her former home, her cottage hidden from view by the trees. Still, she knew where it was.

“Chloe, can you please just look at me!” Beca snapped out of the blue, snapping Chloe out of her musings. Beca had never taken a tone like that with her, she had always been soft-spoken, teasing at times, but never snappish.

When she did look toward the brunette, Chloe realized Beca was… frenzied. She was wringing her hands together, her hair was tousled, and when her hands weren’t wringing, her teeth clamped down on the nail of her thumb. “I don’t appreciate being snapped at like that, Beca,” she countered, not even knowing where the words came from.

“Well, excuse me!” Beca scoffed – actually scoffed. “I’m sorry for not appreciating the fact you’ve been staring off in the distance and barely acknowledging me for almost an hour!”

“Well, can you really blame me!” Chloe yelled back, steadily growing more angry. “You might not have thought about it, _Beca_ , but I almost died just now. And yes, you came to safe me, and yes, I am grateful for that. But I have to leave another life behind now! All my belongings are still there. My money, my clothes, my _house_! But I guess you hadn’t thought about that, had you?”

“By the lord,” Beca muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, don’t give me that!” Chloe snapped.

“What?” Beca asked, eyes narrowed and hands resting on her hips. “Maybe you want me to drop you back off in Salem? Because you sure as hell don’t appear to want to be here with me!”

Those words rang in Chloe’s mind, registering somewhere deep inside her, and making her heart clench. “What?”

“You heard me,” Beca huffed, making Chloe roll her eyes.

“Yes, I did,” the redhead nodded. “But, what? Why would you think I didn’t want to be here with you?”

“You literally haven’t looked at me for the past hour,” Beca pointed out.

“I was… considering logistics,” Chloe muttered, calmed down considerably. To be honest, she had been thinking about the kiss Beca had planted on the corner of her mouth for most of the time, but this wasn’t the time to tell Beca about that. If there ever even was such a time.

“So…” Beca started, wringing her hands again. “You’re not afraid of me?”

“A-Afraid?” Chloe repeated, dumbly. “Beca, whyever would I be afeared of you?”

Waving her hand about, Beca produced the melody that Chloe had been following for most of her life. When she closed her fist, it was interspersed with the drums that Chloe had heard back in Salem, albeit much more quietly. “I… I nearly killed those people, Chloe.”

Chloe nodded, slowly and thoughtfully. “But you did not,” she pointed out.

“Because you stopped me,” Beca sighed. “I… wanted to. And it wouldn’t have been the first time, either.”

“I know,” Chloe told her with a small smile, slipping their hands together as the music suddenly faltered.

“You… know?”

Chloe nodded. “The man who robbed and killed my parents,” she muttered softly. “He allegedly hung himself in the tree where I met you. I never really thought that was a coincidence,” she confided. “People said he was so remorseful because he had killed them, but I always knew remorse hadn’t had anything to do with it. It was you.”

It hadn’t been a question, but Beca nodded nonetheless.

“And I read about the looters, who were found in the burned remainder of my manor,” Chloe continued. “It puzzled me for a while. The moment they broke down the door, they would have known there was nothing left for them there. Yet, they were found deeper inside. Took me a while to figure out that must’ve been you, too.”

Beca nodded again. “Music… it’s a powerful thing, I guess,” she shrugged. “You’re not angry?”

“No,” Chloe responded with a smile and a small shake of her head. “I’m grateful. They didn’t need to die if you ask me, but I am glad to have you looking out for me. Besides, I, too, have killed a man, once.”

At that, Beca’s eyes widened comically. “You… have?”

Chloe nodded, smile slipping from her face. “Way back when we first met, when I was young,” Chloe started to tell her. “I made up a very elaborate story as to why I had been in the woods. It featured a man with a scar, with a grudge against my father for some imagined slight. I… didn’t think they would ever find someone to blame my abduction on.”

To her surprise, Beca started chuckling. “Chloe, love, you have never killed anyone,” she told her, making Chloe cross her arms.

“I know I haven’t physically killed him, but his death was still my fault.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Beca smiled. “Have you never thought it odd that they would find a man that fit your rather elaborate description so perfectly?”

“I… figured it was just really bad luck.”

Beca shook her head, fondly. “No, it was not bad luck. I overheard your story when I went to look if you had made it home alright. I mean, you were a whiny little thing, but I didn’t want you to die in the woods… When your father’s men started their hunt, it became apparent they were not going to give up, so I gave them what they needed.”

“You mean…?”

“There was never a man with a scar,” Beca confirmed. “I just made everyone think there was. I suppose you could call it a mass illusion.”

Chloe felt a weight falling from her shoulders, a weight she hadn’t realized she carried with her for the past hundred-and-ten years, now. “Thank you, Beca,” she smiled, ignoring reason for a moment and moving in to press her lips to Beca’s cheek.

She still hated the way Beca made her feel. She knew she wanted to spend every waking moment with the other woman, and she knew it was not healthy for her to feel this way. This, she had surmised, was how a woman was supposed to feel about her husband. And even then, the urge to run her hand along their body was a sinful one. Sexual intercourse existed to procreate, it was not meant to be indulged in for the sake of pleasure.

Still, she wanted nothing more than to run her hand across Beca’s curves, explore every patch of skin, every freckle and every hidden treasure Beca had to offer. She closed her eyes with a sigh as she felt Beca’s hand smoothing her hair back.

Her sigh turned wistful as Beca stepped out of their embrace, looking down at Salem. Chloe followed her gaze. “I’m guessing we should get my belongings from my cottage before they decide to burn it down.”

“Where will you go, now?” Beca asked, eyes on the horizon.

“It shall be a long travel,” Chloe sighed. “I have resided in most settlements in this area. I would hate to run across another acquaintance. Some luck, huh?”

Beca took Chloe’s hand, fiddling with the silver ring resting on Chloe’s finger. “Not luck. I think it… might have been fate’s way to tell me you don’t belong here, with me.”

Chloe sniffed, feeling rather unladylike at the moment. “If that be the case, fate is a pigeon-livered ratbag,” she decided out loud. “And if fate wants me out of your life, it can come down here and tell me so in person.” She found Beca looking at her with a slack-jawed expression. “What?”

“You just insulted fate, and invited it to come down to meet you in the same sentence,” Beca pointed out dryly. “After everything that happened down there, I’d think you might a bit more curious.”

Huffing, Chloe crossed her arms. “I’m here, aren’t I? Seems like fate has nothing on us to me.”

“I suppose that is fair,” Beca decided with a nod. “Now, tell me, where would you like to live?”

Chloe pursed her lips, thinking deeply. “I read an article a few days ago, about a new city, way south. It sounded… promising.”

Beca cocked her head sideways. “I will need a little more than that,” she muttered dryly.

“It’s called Kingston,” Chloe muttered, “but it would take us months to get there. Longer even, with all my luggage.”

Beca took a deep breath, holding it for a few moments before letting it out in a long stream. “This is going to take up a lot of energy, but I am fairly certain I can manage it,” she muttered, more to herself than to Chloe. “Take my hands?”

Twisting their fingers together, Chloe held on tightly, instinctively closing her eyes. Music seemed to swell around them, steadily rising to a crescendo that was as loud as it had been back in Salem, but much less harmful, more soothing than chaotic.

And then the music stopped, and she heard birds unlike any she had heard before, and she felt the warm rays of the sun beaming down on her face. Opening her eyes, Chloe found herself in an entirely different world.

The first thing she realized was that she was no longer wearing the rough-spun tunic she had worn at her supposed execution. Instead, she was wearing a deep emerald dress, bodice snared tight, and skirts billowing freely.

The next thing she realized was that the majority of the people milling about the streets around them were Africans, wearing coarse cotton clothes. The few pale-faced individuals she saw stood out considerably, both because of the colour of their skin, and the fact they wore richer clothes, much like Chloe herself, and, she now noticed, Beca beside her.

Beca was dressed in a navy-blue dress like her own. She, too, was laced in tightly, making her petite figure stand out all the more. The tightness of her bodice enhanced her shapely breasts, neckline dipping just enough to reveal a hint of it.

“You’re staring,” came the accusing voice with a lilt.

“I suppose I was,” Chloe chuckled. “I have never seen you dressed like this, that is all.”

“And if I have a say in it, you never will again,” Beca sighed, fidgeting with her bodice. “How do you women even breathe?”

Chloe ignored the complaint, taking more time to look around. They were standing at the edge of a market, and it was a miracle people had not seen them appearing out of thin air in this busyness. “People only see what they expect to see,” Beca muttered quietly, as if reading Chloe’s thoughts.

“So this is Kingston?” she asked, voice filled with wonder as she took in the market stalls with fruits she did not know, colourful linens, and, she noticed with a frown, a scaffold where someone was auctioning off people.

“Guess they did not write about that, hm?” Beca asked, eyes narrowing.

Chloe shook her head, disregarding the event for the moment. “They did not, no. Still, slavery is…”

“Inhumane? Cruel? Barbaric?”

“Legal,” Chloe told her. “I’m not saying it’s right, of course it is not. But it is legal.”

“For now,” Beca nodded, and then they were distracted by the sound of hooves coming closer. “Lady Beale,” the man on the buck of a large carriage called out.

“Yes?” Chloe asked, _very_ confused.

“I come bearing your belongings!” he told her cheerfully, stopping the carriage and jumping off. “Whew, that was some journey, let me tell ya!”

“Um, I can imagine?” Chloe hummed, Beca snickering behind her back. “How… long have you been traveling, if I may ask?”

The man looked at her as if she had gone daft. “By sea for about two months, and then with this carriage for another week, give or take a day.”

“But… But we left Salem…”

Beca’s hand coming to rest on her arm shut her up right quick. “You must be tired, m’lady,” Beca told her insistently. “Why don’t you go inside? I’m sure this fine gentleman can find some help to carry your belongings inside, somewhere around here?”

“Rightly so, m’lady,” the man nodded with a tip of his hat. “Your servant can tell me where all the stuff needs to go.”

Beca literally puffed out at the word ‘servant,’ making Chloe giggle. “That is alright, sir. If you find men to do the heavy lifting, my… servant and I can coordinate. So um… where do I live exactly?” she asked Beca, hiding her mouth from view with the fan she suddenly found in her hand.

With a fond roll of her eyes, Beca nodded towards the large, white mansion behind them, and suddenly Chloe felt the weight of its key in her hand. “Has this been here the entire time?” she asked, curiously. “And how did this man travel with my stuff for so long, while-“

“Not. Now. Chloe,” Beca practically growled under her breath.

“Oh, right.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes before we continue:  
> This chapter deals with slavery - I know this is still a sore subject for many people, and rightly so, hence this little warning.
> 
> Also: I'm by no means a historian. I do a fair bit of research for these chapters, making them as authentic as possible, and taking artistic liberties only where I really need to. So yeah, there are going to be inconsistencies and stuff, but like I said, I do my best, and I don't fancy researching every chapter for two full months. If I wanted to write history textbooks, I'd have chosen a different profession! :3

_Kingston, Jamaica, 1694_

Kingston was… different. Sometimes in a good way, and sometimes not, Chloe figured.

She had settled into the mansion Beca had somehow procured for her, but unfortunately the brunette had disappeared before she could explain to Chloe how she had managed this. Chloe hadn’t been holding the key to her home, she was certain of that, and then it had just… been in her hand.

Not to mention the fact her belongings had taken a journey of over two months, yet they managed to appear in Kingston barely ten minutes after Beca had brought them there. It was baffling, and Chloe wanted to understand. Yet, without Beca, there was no chance of that.

And the brunette’s visits had been growing more sporadic over the past two years. And, when she did visit, it was never for more than a few hours.

Chloe did not want to believe something between them had changed after Salem, but she could also not deny that their interactions had grown awkward. She hated every moment of it, even though she absolutely loved having Beca around.

During her last visits, Beca had helped Chloe getting her life on track. She had, once again, played the role of grieving widow, whose husband had recently passed away. This guise never failed to discourage suitors, and that was exactly how Chloe preferred it.

This time, however, her husband had left Chloe his business. And thus, Chloe Beale was now the only female owner of a sugar plantation. People considered it odd, but since it had been Lord Beale’s final wish, and quite clearly outlined in his will, no one fought her on it, either.

After all, somehow, everyone remembered Lord Beale fondly. Most could not recall any particular meetings with the man, but everyone knew he had been a kind, sensible man, who had loved his wife with every fibre of his body.

Chloe herself had almost started believing Lord Beale had existed. But no, he was just a part of Beca’s trickery.

He was, however, also the reason Chloe now found herself here, awkwardly standing amidst other rich Englishmen and Spaniards.

She watched with dismay as the salesman dragged a well-built man, dressed only in ragged trousers, onto the stage. “This able bodied man will definitely be worth the money you spend on him, gentlemen!” the salesman called out. “Put him to work on your plantation. Look at these arms! He can carry twice the weight of your regular slaves!”

Chloe hid most of her face behind her fan, meaning no one noticed when she rolled her eyes.

“I’ll pay eight dollars for him!” someone in the back called out.

“Ten!” someone else overbid.

Taking a deep breath, Chloe steeled her resolve. “Fifteen,” she called out, her female voice standing out from the men enough that everyone was now looking at her.

“Lady Beale,” the salesmen nodded respectfully. “I hadn’t been informed you would be here.”

Chloe dipped her head. “By all means, carry on. I am just here to find a workforce for my plantation.”

There was some murmuring amongst the men in the crowd. Eventually, one of them called out to the salesman. “C’mon, man! Give her some of the slaves for free. You don’t need the money, and she’s struggling to keep afloat!”

Chloe snapped her fan closed harshly, turning towards the men around her. “Absolutely not,” she told them, calmly but decidedly. “I’m not some charity case that needs your assistance. I am perfectly capable of managing my own estate, thank you very much.”

“Sold for fifteen, then!” the salesman grinned broadly. “You’re making me a rich man today, Lady Beale!”

Chloe bid on the next three slaves as well, none of the men putting up much of an attempt to overbid her. Two hours passed quickly, and before Chloe knew it, she had a workforce of thirty-five able-bodied men.

“That’s all for today, gentlemen – um, and m’lady. Tomorrow, we’ll be selling the women and children, so if you need a cook, seamstress, or maid, be sure to come back then! For those of you who bought property today, come see me or my assistance and we will sort out all the paperwork.”

Chloe made her way backstage, feeling remarkably out of place in her dress. The salesman’s assistant was quick to intercept her. “Lady Beale, if you’d follow me, we can-“

“No.”

“Pardon me, M’lady?” the young man muttered confusedly.

“I said no,” Chloe repeated firmly. “I’ll do business with your boss, or I won’t do business at all. Considering the fact that I just spend almost four-hundred dollars on his merchandise, I think he owes me that much, at least.”

“And right you are, My Lady,” the salesman called out as he descended the stairs of the stage he had been on. “Follow me to my office, please.”

His office was just a market stall with cloth spanned on all sides to give the impression of privacy. The man rummaged around in his trunk for a while. “Here are the Proofs of Ownership for the slaves you bought,” he smiled crookedly. “Feel free to check them, of course. You can pay now, or I could come by your residence to collect the payment later.”

Barely supressing a shudder at the man’s tone, Chloe took a pouch of gold from between the folds of her skirts. “I have the money right here, sir,” she smiled sweetly, going over the pieces of parchment while the man counted the money. “Everything seems to be in order.”

“Indeed,” the man nodded. “If there is ever anything else I can assist you with, you need only let me know.”

“There is indeed,” Chloe told him, as if the thought had only just passed her mind. “Would you happen to know if any of the men I bought have families amongst your merchandise?”

The man looked confused, as if he never even considered the possibility. Chloe figured that, maybe, he genuinely had not. Going over his records, he nodded solemnly. “Most of them do, yes. Might I ask why you ask?”

“I want to buy them,” Chloe told him plainly. “Wives, daughters, sons, sisters. Whatever you have for me.”

“The women and children-“

“Will be auctioned off tomorrow, yes, so I heard,” Chloe sighed. She made a show of biting her lip and looking embarrassed. “You see, the thing is, my position is not as secure as a male slave owner’s. I fear trouble with keeping the slaves in line. If I can honestly say I am the reason they could remain with their families, they owe me a debt of gratitude, which should keep them from rebelling.”

The salesman smiled wickedly. “A clever thought, Lady Beale. Normally, I would not do this, but for you, I will make an exception. You will need more gold, though,” he told her, taking more Proofs of Ownership from his trunk. “These are the slaves. I have no idea what use you could have for them, but if you want them, who am I to keep you from buying them?”

“The women can cook, clean, and sew,” Chloe pointed out. “I’m sure I can find some way for the children to make themselves useful.”

Almost an hour later, Chloe exhaustedly left the market to return home. She had never imagined herself buying slaves, but now there would be more than fifty slaves, delivered to her estate tomorrow at noon.

Life was unpredictable, Chloe told herself once again, fingers running across the ring on her finger.

\--

As promised, the slaves were delivered to her estate the following day. To Chloe’s dismay, they were all dressed in rags, with their wrists and ankles bound, and each wearing a collar that was chained to the slave next to them. She made sure not to show her dismay to the salesman and his workers, though. She might, after all, have need of their services again in the future.

Despite their protests, the men eventually left her alone with her slaves. She knew it wasn’t safe, but she didn’t want them to be here for what was to come next. And of course, she never really believed herself to be in any danger.

“Welcome to my plantation,” Chloe smiled, not intimidated by the stares and glares of her new property. “I apologize for the way you have been treated up to this point,” she continued on. “I promise you will be treated well, you will have proper clothes, three meals a day, and wages,” she promised, seeing the confused glances the slaves gave each other.

She understood all too well. She was, after all, promising to pay her slaves. The idea would be ridiculous to pretty much anyone she had met here in Kingston. “Yes, you heard me correctly,” she continued. “I refuse to see you as my property. Before the year is passed, each of you will be a free man or woman, and you can decide for yourself whether you want to remain in my employ, or find your fortune elsewhere.”

“Why should we believe you?” one of the slaves asked her with a heavy accent. Clearly, the group saw him as their leader.

“What is your name?” Chloe asked.

“George,” the man intoned gravely. Chloe doubted that was his real, given name, but nodded nonetheless.

“Very well, George. I know you have very little reason to believe anything I say. The way you have been treated so far is nothing short of a scandal, but I cannot change that. I can only try and give you a brighter future than you’ve had up to this point. I’m not asking you to believe me blindly, but let me ask you this: do you see any overseers around? Angry white men with whips? High fences to keep you from escaping? Any marksmen on the roof of my mansion?”

It was clear that Chloe’s words set the slaves to thinking, everyone looking around and noticing she was speaking the truth. “I am not your enemy,” Chloe told them. “I’m trying to be your friend, but I need your help to make that happen.”

While the leader of the group wavered in his convictions, one of the younger, brasher men stepped forward. “Dirty lies from a white-faced devil!” he spat at her feet.

Chloe wasn’t startled, or even afraid, of the man. She only smiled patiently as the other slaves pulled him back into their group, talking amidst each other. Then, out of nowhere, a fierce gust whipped up around all of them, ruffling Chloe’s skirts and sending her hat flying off into the distance.

When the gale died down, all the slaves were looking in her direction, wide eyed and reverent. She knew they weren’t looking at her, though, but at the person behind her. Some of them fell to their knees, muttering a variety of things she couldn’t understand. The words she could make out sounded like ‘Gleti,’ ‘Ahia Njoku,’ and ‘Ala.’

“They believe me to be a goddess,” Beca smirked as she stepped up to come and stand next to Chloe. “Never thought I’d see the day Chloe Beale bought slaves.”

“I’m trying to free them,” Chloe defended herself.

“I know,” Beca smiled easily. She turned her attention to the slaves. “I am not who you think I am, friends,” she told them. “But I do vouch for this woman. Her heart and intentions are as pure as they appear to be – there is not a crooked bone in her body.” Then, with a flick of her fingers, all of the chains and collars clicked loose, coming to the ground in a rattling mess.

Chloe smiled as the slaves stared at their wrists, the red marks and dark bruises fading away as they looked on. Then, without a word, Beca turned towards Chloe again, placing a quick kiss to her cheek, and turning to walk away.

“Beca, wait!” Chloe called out, stopping the woman in her tracks. Still, she did not turn around. “Can you not stay a while?”

“Not today, little bird,” Beca sighed wistfully, taking another step.

“Have I done you wrong?” Chloe asked now.

That, at least, spurred Beca to face her again. “You?” she laughed humourlessly. “Never, little bird. I will return as soon as I can. I will… explain then.” Beca’s eyes closed for a moment, and Chloe imagined she could see a tear glistening in the corner of her eyes. “You appear to be one slave short, already, Miss Beale,” she smiled, and then she disappeared behind the shed.

Chloe would have followed, but she knew all too well it would be of no use. Beca was no longer in Kingston. Turning her attention back to her slaves, she found them all patiently kneeling in front of her. All, except for George.

“You needn’t kneel for me,” Chloe smiled. “I’m not the Queen of England.”

They hesitantly got to their feet, clearly uncertain on how to treat their mistress. Just then, George came running over, making Chloe smile as he stepped up to her, carefully holding out the hat Beca’s gale had sent flying. “Milady,” he muttered, bowing his head.

Chloe gratefully accepted the hat, recognizing the gesture for what it was. “Let’s talk business, now,” she told the group. “It will be hard work, I’m not going to lie. But together, we can make this plantation something truly wonderful.”

_Kingston, Jamaica, 1701_

Everyone in Kingston thought her strange. Of this, Chloe was all too aware.

For once, though, it was not because of her lack of aging – most people had not even begun to notice that about her, the population of Kingston shifting enough that no one was ever around for very long. A year ago, a hostile plantation owner had made a remark about it, telling her she was _unnatural_. Two weeks later, he had been strangled in his sleep by one of his own slaves.

That slave, as well as all of his others, now worked for her. Chloe had taken the opportunity to buy out the neighbouring plantation, applying her rules and leadership to the new business. Her own slaves – former slaves – had placated all of the slaves, and ensured them that the promise of being a free man was not an empty one.

That promise, however, was the reason Kingston thought her strange.

She was, far and wide, the only plantation owner to be paying wages to her workforce. And while it was true her plantation did not net her as much of a profit as it would if she used slaves, or as much as her neighbours' plantations netted them, she was still making a nice profit.

She was now richer than she had been when she fled England, and back then, she had not been particularly poor. Far from it, actually. Chloe did not often think about that period in her life anymore. She did not think about any period in her life much, anymore. She supposed that came with being two-hundred-nineteen years old.

Of course, she had never once taken off Beca’s ring, even if she had only seen the woman five times since she acquired the plantation and her workforce. The promise of an explanation that Beca had made her seven years ago had not yet been fulfilled.

Sitting in her easy chair, book in her lap, Chloe could feel Marie-Claire, one of the first slaves she had bought so long ago, lingering in the corner. “What is it, my dear?” she asked with a smile.

“I bring tea, my lady,” she returned with a tight smile. Even after all these years, Chloe could not break the habits of them using her title, rather than her name. She was losing hope that would ever happen.

“As you do every night,” Chloe countered good-naturedly. “Normally, you do not linger in the shadows.”

“I was… chosen to ask you something, my lady,” the woman muttered nervously. With a smile, Chloe waved the woman over to the other chair.

“Have a seat, then. Oh, come on, none of that,” she chided as the woman was about to disagree. “I do not fancy looking up at you for this talk. Have a seat, please.”

Once the woman was seated, they fell into silence, until Chloe sighed. “Well then, out with it, my dear,” she told the woman, who had functioned as the leader of all her female and underage workers. "What do you and your friends want to know? Is there something wrong with the working conditions? Do you require higher wages?”

“None of that, my lady,” the woman muttered with her head hung low. “We owe you our eternal gratitude for the way you treat us. We would never think to ask for more.”

“Sometimes, I wish you would,” Chloe told the woman, not unkindly. “You are all very hard to read.”

“We… Many of us have been in your employ for a long time, now,” the woman started, barely audible. “We’ve noticed…”

Chloe chuckled slightly. She knew exactly where this was going. “You are wondering about my age,” she filled in, watching the woman nod with wide eyes.

“That is fair,” Chloe told her. “You can tell the others, but never the children, nor those that have not been with me for as long as some of you have. I need you to promise me, Marie-Claire.”

“Of course, I promise. You have my word, I swear it on my freedom.”

Chloe gave a small nod, knowing how much that oath meant for the other woman. “I was born in fifteen-eighty-two,” she told the woman. “Which makes me well over two-hundred years of age.”

Any normal person would have laughed at her, and then called for her to be moved to an institution. Marie-Claire, however, seemed to believe her. Chloe was surprised to find the other woman’s eyes drawn to the ring. Holding out her hand, she gave her a better view. “You like it?”

“It belongs to the Goddess, my lady,” Marie-Claire muttered reverently.

Chloe nodded. “It did, once, yes. It has been mine for a long time now, though.”

“I understand,” Marie-Claire nodded, slowly.

“That is impressive,” Chloe laughed. “For I do not, and neither does she. But I understand what you mean. You must have wondered about my lack of aging for some time, no?”

“Yes, my lady, but we were afeared to ask. I should retire now, and leave you to your rest, as well.”

Before Chloe could object, she was alone again. With a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes, trying to ignore the loneliness creeping in like cold on a late-spring evening. She was happy with her life, truly, and felt blessed to have a life this long. But she’d had a realization a few weeks prior. If Beca was going to be this absent from her life, maybe it would no longer be worth it to keep her ring on her finger.

Opening her eyes again, she found Beca sitting in the chair where Marie-Claire had sat moments ago. “About damn time you showed your face again,” Chloe drawled.

Beca looked distinctly uncomfortable, and for once, Chloe did not feel obliged to set her at ease. “You haven’t visited me in almost two years.”

Beca looked quite distraught at that, as if she had not even realized how much time had elapsed.

“And I imagine you hadn’t intended to visit me now, either,” Chloe continued, her voice taking on a sad note.

Beca shook her head solemnly. “Not until I felt… I felt like I had suddenly lost you. As if you weren’t there anymore.”

Chloe smiled wistfully, opening her fist and revealing Beca’s ring, glistening in the palm of her hand. The moment she had removed it, she too had felt their connection wavering.

“You took it off,” Beca muttered. It wasn’t a question, merely a observation. “I suppose I deserve that.”

Without saying anything, Chloe slipped the ring back on her finger, taking a sharp breath as she felt their connection returning full-force. She could see that Beca had felt it too. “It was a trick?” Beca asked, eyes narrowed. “Just a way to get me here?”

Chloe shook her head. “I had no way of knowing if you would know I had taken it off. If you would even care,” she told the other woman.

“Of course I care!” Beca practically yelled, before lowering her volume. “Of course I care, Chloe.”

Chloe smiled, sadly. “How was I supposed to know, Beca? Last time you were here was two years ago, and you only stayed for a few minutes. We haven’t properly talked in seven years, if not more.”

Again, Beca nodded. “You are right. I have been… You did not seem like you needed me,” she told the redhead. “You have the plantation, your workers, your friends. And I was working through some personal issues.”

“Beca,” Chloe said, leaning forward and taking the woman’s hand in her own. “I will _always_ need you in my life. No house, or friends, or business can ever replace _you_.”

Beca flashed her a quick, grateful smile, which immediately fell at Chloe’s next words.

“But yes, you have been an utter idiot as of late.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” Beca defended weakly.

“Not at all,” Chloe grinned, glad to have their familiar interaction back. “I was actually thinking it in much harsher terms, but wanted to spare your precious feelings.”

“I deserve that,” Beca agreed easily, taking a sip from a drink that hadn’t been there a second ago.

“You really need to tell me how you do that,” Chloe noted wryly. “You also never explained how I got this house. Or how my belongings came here. Or why I’m mourning a husband I’ve never even met.”

Beca grinned, charming Chloe with perfect white teeth and sparkling eyes. “Isn’t that the fun of it all? The mystery?”

“I think I’ve had enough mystery in my life,” Chloe told her dryly.

“I moved your furniture here the same way I moved us here,” Beca told her, taking another sip. “The man in charge of the transport _believed_ he had been traveling for months, but it only took him a few hours of his life, really. Being a simpleton, he never really gave it much thought, though.”

“And the key to this house?”

“Yes, I put that in your hand. Same thing as before. I guess I can just move things around like that,” Beca shrugged. “I know I make it look easy, and as if I am in control… But half the time I have no idea what I am doing, or how I am doing it.”

“Have you found out anything about your origins, yet, then?” Chloe asked, genuinely curious.

Beca didn’t respond for a long time, staring out of the window. As long as she was here, though, Chloe was willing to wait.

“I think I’m a demon.”

That piqued Chloe’s attention. “Like, one of Lucifer’s followers?”

Beca shook her head, vaguely. “I don’t think I believe what is written in the Bible.”

While Chloe realized all too well that words like that could get you in serious trouble, they did not surprise her. “Me neither,” she confided.

“You… don’t?” Beca asked, gobsmacked.

Chloe wiggled her ring. “Not until the Bible can explain this to me.”

“Right,” Beca murmured.

“So, why do you think you are a demon, then?”

Beca sighed again. “I went through a ton of ancient texts. There were some about beings with my power – enchanting mortals through music, performing feats and bewildering the senses. And a lot of other, not so pleasant business.”

Chloe hummed, falling into silence again. “I don’t think you are a demon, Beca,” she eventually decided.

“And how would you know?” Beca asked, single eyebrow raised.

“I don’t know,” Chloe told her honestly. “But I just know.”

“Come,” Chloe continued, rising from her seat. “I’ll give you a tour of the estate. It has changed considerably since you last saw it.”

It took them over an hour to see everything there was to see, and Chloe was pleased to find Beca impressed with everything she had accomplished. “Beca, can I ask you something?”

The brunette nodded, eyes on the fields of sugar reed.

“Did you have anything to do with that murder of my business rival? You know, the one whose plantation I bought?”

Beca shook her head. “I can see why you might think so, but no. I haven’t been in Kingston since the last time I saw you. I imagine that man should just have treated his slaves a little better.”

“You could say that again,” Chloe muttered with a frown. “You should see their scars. He even marked them with hot iron.”

“Barbaric,” Beca spat. She ran her hand through her hair, looking over to the buildings where Chloe’s workers slept. “I can help with that, though.”

“Would you?”

“Anything for you, little bird.”

“Not for me,” Chloe argued. “For them.”

\--

It took all of three minutes for Beca to remove the marks from the former slaves, and to heal their scars and the remaining injuries. It took four more hours to calm everyone down, and to stop the tears of joy from flowing, and to make everyone promise to keep their secret.

Standing in front of the manor, Chloe instinctively felt that this was goodbye. After all, Beca never spent the night.

“Beca, I need you to make me a promise.”

“What is it, Chloe?” the brunette asked, their hands joined in front of them.

“Visit me? At least once every two months.”

Beca gave a firm nod. “I will visit you at least once a month,” she promised. “And I will let you know if I cannot make it for some reason.”

Chloe could see the determination in Beca’s eyes, relief washing over her at the whispered promise. Without thinking, she dashed forward, pressing her lips to Beca’s. Just as soon as she had lunged forward, she lurched back again, too, appalled at what she had done.

She opened her eyes, apology at the tip of her tongue.

Beca was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, according to my research, paying between eight and fifteen dollars for a slave was pretty regular.   
> That actually blew my mind.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got like, really stuck on this chapter.  
> And then, while I was just being generally miserable because of the flu, inspiration struck and I wrote this.  
> Hope it's good, let me know in the comments!  
> Thanks for everyone supporting this story, and my other stories!! <3
> 
> EDIT: Something seems to have gone really wrong with publishing this chapter - I somehow didn't include the first two scenes. I was just re-reading this for inspiration on continuing it when I discovered something was off :/   
> I added it in now, so I do hope you'll all be re-reading anyway, since it's been a while since I updated!

_ Kingston, Jamaica, 1701 _

Chloe was angry. Livid, even. It had been twenty-nine days since she had kissed Beca, being so relieved at the brunette’s promise to visit her every month that she had forgotten herself, forgotten her inhibitions, forgotten her common sense.

She wasn’t angry at Beca, now. No, she was angry at herself. It had almost been a month since she’d seen Beca, and Chloe knew with utmost certainty the brunette would not show herself again. She could not even blame the other woman – what she had done was deplorable, forcing herself unto her friend like that.

She completely understood Beca never wanting to see her again. Every day, she had contemplated taking off Beca’s ring, but she couldn’t. That would mean breaking her bond with the brunette, and Chloe could not bring herself to do so. She would understand if Beca chose to break with her, but she could not do it herself, for Beca had done nothing wrong.

Nevertheless, Chloe’s mood was foul enough that only two of her workers even dared look at her, let alone exchange words. George, her plantations foreman, kept the business going well-enough that Chloe hardly ever needed to be present, but for formal business, requiring her name and signature, he would fetch her.

Marie-Claire, her housekeeper, instructed everyone to steer clear of Lady Beale, and Chloe was grateful for it. None of these men and women had wronged her in any way, but she could not bring herself to be kind to them, which made her feel even more guilty than she already felt towards Beca.

What made it all even worse was the fact Chloe could not forget how soft Beca’s lips had felt against her own. She knew it was wrong, and she deeply regretted her actions, yet she also felt the nearly undeniable urge to do it again. 

She had half a mind to make her way to the church and make a confession, but that would not bring Beca back into her life, nor would it change her feelings towards the other woman. Moreover, confessing implied repentance, and that was something Chloe did not feel. She felt terrible about chasing Beca away, but she could not bring herself to actually regret the kiss.

Heaving a sigh, Chloe lowered herself into her favourite chair, looking out over the fields of sugar reeds, the men singing a soulful song as they worked the field. Even though they were no slaves, they had adopted the music many slaves sung while working the field, as a show of solidarity to those less privileged.

Chloe wasn’t certain why, but she enjoyed listening to their rough voices, singing out of tune. She supposed there was beauty in music, even if it was not perfect. She closed her eyes, letting their voices wash over her, making her feel just the tiniest bit better.

She must have dozed off for a little while, she supposed, the sun being lower in the sky than it had been when she had sat down. The men were still singing, voices seamlessly blending with the music, haunting and ethereal. 

Still foggy from sleep, she did not immediately realize what she was listening to. When she did realize that there was actual  _ music _ , she almost fell off her chair, a warm hand grasping her arm in the nick of time, keeping her from tumbling to the ground.

Her eyes took in the hand, following the arm to find Beca, leisurely sitting next to her – even if her face looked a little tense. “Beca!” Chloe gasped. “You’re… here?”

The brunette smiled tightly, letting go of Chloe’s arm as soon as she was properly seated again. “I made you a promise, did I not?” she asked with a shrug. “Visit you at least once a month. I apologize it took me this long.”

“You needn’t apologize,” Chloe told her, biting her lip. “I should be the one to apologize. I am so sorry for forcing myself upon you,” she rushed out. “I swear no such thing will happen again, I do not know what had come over me. Such unnatural urges…” she trailed off, looking at the setting sun. “I shan’t give in to them ever again.”

Chloe visibly startled when she felt Beca’s hand coming to rest over her own, their fingers tangling together. She was uncertain what she had expected, maybe for Beca to be repulsed by her mere presence, but certainly not for the other woman to actually seek out physical contact. 

“Chloe, would you please look at me?” Beca asked, voice soft and gentle. When they made eye contact, she gave a small smile. “You needn’t apologize, either. I can see the fear in your eyes, but you must not worry. I am not appalled, nor am I angry.”

“How can you not be?” Chloe lamented, trying to pull her hand back, but finding Beca’s to keep her in place. 

Beca was still smiling. “You forget how old I am,” she grinned. “I was around before the Bible, Chloe. Before Christianity. I remember a time where it  _ wasn’t _ considered unnatural for two women to engage in… Um… physical affections.”

“Those must have been barbaric times,” Chloe uttered with a strangled voice, making Beca laugh quietly.

“In some ways, yes,” the brunette nodded. “In other ways, however, current civilization is much more barbaric. Over time, I have come to the realization that love is a beautiful thing, no matter whether it is between a husband and his wife, or between two women or two men-“

“It isn’t natural to feel this way,” Chloe uttered, hating herself for those words but knowing them to be true in her heart. 

Beca smiled sadly. “I know you feel that way,” Beca told her gently. “And how could you not, with people telling you for as long as you have lived? But growing over two centuries old is, I believe, far more unnatural still, and yet here we both are.”

“Beca… I… I can’t-“

“Shush,” Beca interrupted. “I’m not asking you to. I know that, at the very least, you will need time to get to terms with everything. Maybe, in a few months, or a few years, or a few centuries, who knows? Until then, however, I will be here for you, as a friend, a confidante, or anything else you need. I just need you to know that I do not hate you, could never hate you, or be repulsed by you and your feelings.”

Chloe took a moment to let Beca’s words sink in. She was doubtful about her feeling any different in time – at best, these strange feelings for Beca might disappear – but she was infinitely grateful not to have lost her as a friend. “If you do not hate me, and are not disgusted by my presence, why did you leave, and not come back sooner?”

Beca bit her lip, and now it was her turn to shift her gaze to the sun, largely hidden from view by the trees. “I panicked,” she eventually admitted. “When you kissed me, I found that I… I really enjoyed it. And that scared me – not because you’re a woman, but because you’re  _ you _ . I… Of course I knew we shared a special bond, but… I did not see this coming. Which is pretty stupid, because I absolutely should have.”

“You mean…” Chloe began to ask, before thinking better of it. “Never mind, it is not my business.”

Beca grinned her roguish smile at her, making Chloe’s heart beat just a little bit faster. “Yes, Chloe, I have felt this way for a woman before. Long, long ago, before Europe was even a thing.”

“Did you ever-“ Chloe started, teeth clicking together as her cheeks flushed.

“Yes, we did,” Beca admitted slowly. “Once.”

“I see,” Chloe murmured, fully realizing how silly she was for feeling jealous of a woman who had, undoubtedly, been deceased for at least a thousand years now.

“Don’t make that face,” Beca smiled, running a hand through Chloe’s hair. “It is not very flattering.”

“I know not what you mean,” Chloe huffed, flush still brightly on her cheeks.

“Of course you don’t,” Beca chuckled.

They lapsed into easy silence, watching the sun dipping below the horizon, and the moon and stars making their appearance in the sky. Beca was humming something under her breath, a tune Chloe had not heard before, yet seemed familiar. After an hour, she asked Beca about it.

“I don’t know,” the woman responded, mind somewhere else. “It has been stuck inside my head for a few weeks now. I do not think I ever heard it before, though.”

Saying nothing further for a while, Chloe took solace in the presence of her friend. It was nearing midnight when the brunette got to her feet, holding out her hand to help Chloe up as well. “It is time for me to take my leave,” she smiled. 

“Will it be another month before I see you again?” Chloe asked, warily. 

“Only if you want it to be,” Beca smiled.

“I do not,” Chloe admitted softly. “I miss you terribly when you are not here.”

Beca hummed. “Then I will visit again soon,” she promised, holding out her arms. “Are you alright with a hug?”

“Yes,” Chloe breathed, feeling Beca’s strong arms wrap around her momentarily. She both loved and hated the feeling of Beca’s body against her own as her arms came to wrap around the brunette’s lower back, chin resting on her shoulder. “Thank you, Beca,” she whispered.

“Whatever for?”

“Everything.”

_ Kingston, Jamaica, 1703 _

Beca kept her promise, visiting Chloe several times a week for months on end. They lapsed back into their usual way of interacting, even if that one kiss was never far from Chloe’s mind. The first few times, Beca had gently asked if Chloe was okay with a hug, with holding hands, with a kiss to her cheek. She never pushed, only gently testing the waters, and Chloe appreciated her all the more for it.

The time had come again that Chloe felt it was time for her to take her leave from Kingston. People were starting to eye her warily when she went out, whispering behind their hands and fans, and Chloe, who had lived through this several times before, had more preparations to make than ever.

After all, she owned a sizeable plantation, which was still turning up a tidy profit. And while she knew she had to leave Kingston behind, she was not about to let all of her workers and their families fend for themselves, nor was she willing to give up her business entirely.

“Lady Beale?” George muttered, standing at the door of her office, holding his cap in his hands. “You had sent for me?”

“Yes,” Chloe smiled. “Please, have a seat.”

George did as he was told, as he always did. Chloe didn’t miss his discomfort, which had always been evident when she interacted with him. Out in the field, he was in his element, helping all of the workers with their tasks, and ensuring everyone did their part. 

But when interacting with someone he deemed above his station, he turned shy, insecure, and uncomfortable. It was something he would have to work on, however.

“George,” Chloe started with a smile. “I am afraid I have to leave Kingston for some time.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” George muttered, bending his head. “May I ask when you are leaving? And when you might return?”

“I am not certain about my departure,” Chloe told him honestly. “My absence will be for quite a while, though. Months, if not years.”

She could see in George’s eyes that he understood. He had, after all, been working the plantation for long enough to know Chloe did not age. “You are selling the plantation, then?” he asked demurely.

“Absolutely not,” Chloe stated firmly. “The plantation will remain in my possession. I merely need someone to handle the day-to-day operations. Someone who knows how a plantation works, who knows the people who work here. Someone I can trust with my business. Someone like you.”

“You flatter me,” George smiled awkwardly. “But I am not the man you think I am.”

“George, I’m over two-hundred years old,” Chloe told him plainly. “I’ve seen more men in my lifetime than you can imagine. I learned a thing or two about people. You may not see it, but you are exactly the man I need.”

It looked as if George would object, but after a second or two, he reconsidered. “What do you need of me, milady?”

“You will manage the day-to-day business,” Chloe told him. “You’ve been doing most of it already, so it should not change much. However, you will also be in charge of dealing with the buyers, as well as acquiring new slaves when needed. I will ensure you will have a way to message me – it may take some time, but I will always respond. Together, we can run this business, free more slaves, and prosper for a long time to come.”

“I am humbled by your faith in me,” George muttered. “But there is so much I do not yet know.”

Chloe smiled, glad the man was accepting his new function. “Well, I never did say I would be leaving tomorrow,” she told him kindly. “There will be time for you to learn.”

\--

_Kingston, Jamaica, 1704_

Chloe plastered on a polite smile as she saw the carriage rattling towards her manor. Turning to the man beside her, the smile grew more genuine. “You worry too much,” she muttered under her breath, smile never faltering.

“That is easy for you to say, Milady,” George muttered, pulling at the collar of his suit.

“Don’t do that,” Chloe chided. “You look fine, stop messing with your clothes.”

As the carriage came to a halt, two familiar men stepped out. Chloe had done business with these merchants quite often over the years, and they most certainly weren’t amongst the easiest of Chloe’s business associates. They had been quite reluctant to do business with a woman, and they wouldn’t be none too pleased doing business with a black man, either.

If George got through this unscathed, he’d be ready to take over the plantation for her, Chloe figured.

“Gentlemen,” Chloe smiled. “Welcome back. It has been a while.”

“Indeed it has, Lady Beale. We hope you remain in good health?”

“As well as can be expected,” Chloe smiled with a dip of her head. “Unfortunately, I haven’t the time to entertain you.”

“Unfortunate, indeed,” one of the men frowned. “We came a long way.”

“I will be leaving for an extended period of time,” Chloe told them. “My foreman has been trained and instructed in running the plantation during my absence. You can do your business with him.”

“You expect us to do business with a slave?”

Chloe’s polite smile turned into an icy glare in a split-second. “George is a free man, and has the documentation to prove it,” she told them coldly. “You are, of course, more than welcome to leave and buy your sugar somewhere else. We are not dependent on your gold. That being said, we have always had a mutually beneficent understanding, and I’d hate to see something like this ruin a good thing.”

The men threw each other a quick, sideward glance, before reluctantly nodding. “Very well, lead the way.”

“You can use my office, George,” Chloe smiled, before moving into the house. Chloe knew her office would give George a slight advantage, and he’d certainly need it, too.

Walking into her parlour, Chloe found Beca staring out of the window, taking in the fields upon fields of sugar reeds. “Business has been good, has it not?” the brunette asked without looking around.

“It has,” Chloe nodded, stepping up beside her. “People are beginning to rebel against slavery. The fact my workers are free men and women is actually doing me favours, now.”

“Is he ready?” Beca asked, casually gesturing to the rumbling voices moving up the stairs.

“I believe so, yes,” Chloe told her. “I taught him everything I know. He needs more confidence, but that will come with time.”

“And what about you?” Beca asked. “What will you do?”

Chloe pursed her lips in thought, closing her eyes as her arm brushed against the bare skin of Beca’s arm, the warm flesh so soft to the touch.

“I want horses.”

Beca barked out a laugh, before bringing a hand to cover her mouth. “Horses? Like, a stable?”

With a roll of her eyes – a habit she really need to learn to control, before it got her into trouble – Chloe shook her head. “No, not a stable. A ranch. I mean, I managed just fine with a sugar plantation. How hard can a horse ranch be?”

“You… want to buy a horse ranch?” Beca asked, as if she doubted whether she understood Chloe correctly.

“Yes,” Chloe nodded. “I would need capable men, with the necessary knowledge, of course. A good foreman has proven essential in the sugar-business. I have no doubt it will be the same with horses.”

“I’m not sure whether I should be impressed by your ambition, or just amused by your lackadaisical attitude,” Beca commented dryly. “Have you even thought this through?”

“Not in the slightest,” Chloe admitted after a few seconds. “It was just something that came to mind a while back.”

She let out a brief sigh as she felt Beca’s fingers entwining with her own, giving her hand a soft squeeze. “Do you even know of any horse ranches?”

“No,” Chloe frowned. “Nor do I know anyone in the business. I don’t even know the basics. Maybe… Yeah, this was probably a silly idea,” she eventually admitted, reluctantly.

She watched intently as Beca brought their joined hands up, pressing a kiss to the back of Chloe’s hand. “If you want, I can try and find a horse ranch for sale?”

“It would never work,” Chloe sighed. “There are too many flaws in my plan. But thank you, for supporting it nonetheless.”

Pulling her in for a warm hug, Beca pressed Chloe close to her own body. “I’ll be gone for a few weeks this time, probably. But I’ll be back before the month is through.”

As they parted, Chloe gave the brunette a sad smile. “I’ll be here, as always.”

\--

Preparations for her departure were coming along nicely, even if she had no idea where she would be moving just yet. Her workers had helpfully spread the rumour Chloe had fallen ill, and was moving to a more remote place, where she could recuperate without the hustle and bustle of the city and her business.

George’s position was made official. He had done well enough with his first meeting, selling a batch of sugar for a fair price. The deal could’ve been better, but time was a good teacher, Chloe had learned over the years.

Chloe would’ve packed up her belongings, but she was fairly certain Beca would be willing and able to help her out with moving. And with that particular brand of magic at her beck and call, there really was no need for packing up anything.

With a gust of wind and a loud oomph, the object of her thoughts landed in the middle of her dining room, arms filled with papers and maps, and books. “Beca? You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just um… Misjudged or something.” Moments later, the clutter in her arms was spread out across the table. “But I come bearing gifts.”

“I… see that,” Chloe stammered, bewildered. “What, exactly, am I looking at?”

“Okay, so, before you say anything, listen to this: I know you said your idea was silly, and that I didn’t need to help you. But! I found a man who is willing to sell his horse ranch, up in Massachusetts. It’s a nice-looking plot of land, and he is selling his stock of horses too. Now, I know you have no idea what to do with this, but here’s the kicker: the man has a single stipulation before he is willing to sell.”

“And what would that be?” Chloe smiled, endeared by Beca’s enthusiasm.

“He wants his current staff to be held on, including his foreman, who has been in the business for twenty-something years. You would not even _need_ to get involved in the horse-side of the business.”

“And you’re certain this man wants to sell?” Chloe asked, carefully.

“Yes?”

“I mean… you didn’t um… convince him?” inquired further.

Beca shook her head vehemently. “No, I haven’t even met him. But, if you want, we can hop over there and have a chat?”

“Hop over to Massachusetts?” Chloe asked with an arched eyebrow. “Beca, we’re in _Jamaica_.”

Beca gave her an unimpressed look, devoid of any emotion.

“Oh, right…” Chloe murmured softly. “Yeah, okay, let’s go.”

Beca smiled excitedly, taking a hold of Chloe’s hands, ever so tenderly, as if her fingers would snap under too much pressure. “Ready?”

“Uh-huh.”

Chloe closed her eyes, and only opened them again when she heard the distinct whinny of a horse in the distance. Opening her eyes, she found herself surrounded by green fields, trees dotting the landscape here-and-there. A little ways in the distance, a smattering of buildings was built on a slight rise in the landscape. “It does look nice,” she muttered softly.

“Come on, let’s go,” Beca smiled, pulling her along by the hand she was still holding.

Chloe felt somewhat strange, walking up to the main building, arm in arm with Beca. They only had taken a few steps upon the property when a dog came running at them, barking wildly, and stopping in front of them with his upper lip drawn up in a snarl.

Unworriedly, Beca began to whistle a random tune. And Chloe knew she should not be so surprised, but she could not help but squeal when the dog turned onto its back, tongue lolling out of its mouth, twisting and turning in hopes of getting his belly rubbed.

Chloe bent down to do just that, the dog letting out a happy little bark.

“Barker!” a male voice boomed over the land. “What the-“

Two men, in their late thirties or early forties, came running up to them. “What in the devil got into that dog?” the man who had yelled muttered, clearly astounded.

“Never mind the dog, Charlie,” the other man sighed, punching him in the shoulder. “Ladies, what can we do you for? You’re not lost, are ya?”

“Is this the Paxton Ranch?” Beca asked politely.

“Indeed t’is,” the first man nodded. “I’m Jerry, the foreman around here. This here is Charlie, but he ain’t so important, so you can just forget ‘im.”

Charlie smiled with a shrug, indicating he didn’t mind. “Now, what can we help you with? Need a horse?”

Chloe smiled, extending her hand and surprising the men by shaking theirs firmly. “I’m actually here to speak to the owner. I heard this place is for sale?”

At those words, they were swiftly shown into the main house, finding themselves at the kitchen table with steaming mugs of tea as they waited for the owner to come. He was apparently taking a round of the property, and it took him half an hour to return.

“I’m so terribly sorry, Miss Beale!” he exclaimed as he entered the kitchen. Clearly, his foreman had already relayed all of the information. “If I’d known you were coming-“

“No, no,” Chloe offered. “None of that. I should be the one to apologize. It was rude of us to come by unannounced.”

“No matter, no matter,” the man smiled, extending his hand. “I’m John Paxton. I own this gorgeous plot of land.”

“Yes, I heard it was for sale?” Chloe replied, getting straight to business.

“Indeed, though it pains my heart,” the man sighed, joining them at the table. “My wife gave me an ultimatum. Either we move to the city before the year is up, or she moved to the city without me. What’s a man to do, hm?”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Chloe murmured. “Though I might be interested in buying your ranch.”

“Do you know anything about horses?” Paxton asked, “or of business?”

“I own a plantation near Kingston,” Chloe told him. “I ran it for years before moving back up here some time ago. My foreman is in charge of it now. So, the business-side should not pose a problem. As for the horses… I don’t know a damned thing, but I’m willing to learn, and I’m a quick study.”

“If you were to go through with this, Charlie and Jerry will be invaluable to you,” Paxton chuckled. “To be honest, those two know three times as much about horses as I ever will. Why don’t we move to my office?”

“Let’s.”

\--

_Shrewsbury, Massachusetts, 1705_

It had taken a few months, but all in all, the transfer of Paxton Ranch into Beale property was a smooth one. Staff was kept on, and Mr. Paxton and his wife moved to the city of Boston, where she would live a long happy life, and he would live a long and miserable life.

Chloe found that she got along swimmingly with both Charlie and Jerry, who handled most – if not all, at the beginning – of the business for her. They were also more than happy to show her the proverbial ropes, and didn’t seem to have any problems working for a woman.

Every few weeks, Chloe would receive letters from George in Jamaica, to which she responded as expediently as she could. Overall, both of her business seemed to be flourishing.

It wasn’t long until Chloe realized that business was business, whether you were selling sugar or horses.

During the first few weeks of her ownership of the horse ranch, Beca would drop by every other day. If anyone considered this odd, they didn’t speak of it, and if anyone ever wondered where the brown-haired woman came from, or went off to, no one dared ask.

Well… Almost no one.

“Miss Beale?”

Chloe turned around, having been watching the horses in the corral prancing around. “Yes, Charlie?”

“We got a bid on that colt we’re trying to sell. I figured I’d check in with you before accepting.”

“Are they offering a good price?”

Charlie pulled a face for a moment. “It’s… not unreasonable.”

“Meaning it isn’t a good price,” Chloe surmised, pursing her lips. “What did they offer?”

“A hundred-and-twenty, Miss,” Charlie responded. “Like I said, it’s not unreasonable.”

Chloe shrugged. “Maybe for a lesser horse. Tell them we’ll sell for a hundred-and-forty, or not at all.”

Even though he tried to hide it, Chloe spotted the beginnings of a smile. “What if they refuse?” Charlies asked, lips curled up ever-so slightly.

“Then there will be others to sell to,” Chloe told him plainly. “Anything else?”

It was strange to see a strong, well-built man like Charlie instantly becoming uncomfortable, seeming to shrink in on himself. “Actually, Miss, there is um… one other thing.”

“Well, go on then,” Chloe sighed. When Charlie merely bit his lip, and looked off into the distance, Chloe recognized the signs. “You want to ask about Beca?”

“Yes, Miss Beale,” he nodded slowly. “She’s… No offense, but she’s unnatural.”

“How so?”

“Last week, she stopped a rampaging stallion in his tracks, merely by whistling at him. And the way she turned Barker docile? I swear that dog hates everyone and everything… but not her. And…”

“Go on,” Chloe urged.

“We tried to talk to her yesterday, Jerry and I. But she just looked at us, like some real intense staring… It felt as if she could look right into our souls and see our deepest, darkest secrets. And then she _smiled_.”

Chloe chuckled quietly. “Yes, she can be a little intense, sometimes. But I promise you she wouldn’t harm a fly.”

“Are you sure it is wise to continue seeing her?” Charlie asked, carefully.

“I appreciate your concern,” Chloe told him, frown marring her complexion. “But it is not needed. And I would prefer we not speak of this again.”

“Of course, Miss Beale.”

\--

That night, around three in the morning, Chloe awoke with a startle. At first she wasn’t quite certain what had woken her up, and as soon as sleep’s fog left her mind, she realized there was music in the air.

Beca had long ago given up on leading Chloe to remote locations to meet her – normally, she’d just appear somewhere in Chloe’s home, nowadays. And, every time Beca had led her somewhere by use of her music, it had been bold and alluring.

This music was weaker, almost hesitant, as if Beca herself wasn’t certain she wanted Chloe to follow the sound. That, of course, wouldn’t keep Chloe from following it nonetheless. She would go anywhere Beca asked her to – no questions asked.

As it happened, the music led her to the stables, faltering a few times as Chloe walked across the property towards the wooden building. The moment she stood in front of the doors, the music ceased altogether.

Chloe was left with a sound she couldn’t quite place – a gruff, male grunting. Stepping in through the door, left slightly ajar, she made her way to the back, where there were only empty boxes – the stables far from being filled to capacity.

The moment she peered into one of the boxes, everything began to make a whole lot more sense.

Jerry and Charlie were both shirtless, one of them pushed up against the wall, with the other’s hand down his trousers. They were so focused on each other they hadn’t even heard Chloe nearing, and the grunting she had heard earlier turned into harshly whispered curses and deep, rumbling moans.

The moment the two men began kissing each other, Chloe decided she’d seen enough.

“Ahem.”

Had the situation not been so awkward, if would’ve been funny to see how Jerry yanked his hands from Charlie’s pants, stumbling backwards and tripping over his own discarded shirt, ending up sprawled out in the hay. Charlie, meanwhile, just looked at her, look of absolute terror on her face.

“I suggest you get dressed and cleaned up, before meeting me in my kitchen,” Chloe told them, before turning on her heels and exiting the stables again. She wasn’t deaf to the stream of muttered curses coming from behind her. She hated leaving them in suspense like this, but she needed a few minutes to figure out how she was going to handle this situation.

She also needed to figure out how she was going to handle Beca, whenever she would show her face again. It was painfully obvious this was the brunette’s way of sending her a message. That conversation, back in Kingston, was never far from her mind – or Chloe’s, for that matter.

Chloe had a steaming pot of coffee ready by the time the two men came shuffling into the kitchen, eyes on the floorboards and hands behind their backs. “Have a seat, boys,” Chloe told them. “Coffee?”

She didn’t wait for a response – nor did she get one – before placing three mugs of coffee on the table. When, after several long minutes, no one had spoken a word, Chloe let out an airy sigh. “Have I really made such a poor impression on you?”

That, at least, got their attention. Looking up, confusion was written across their faces. “Not at all, Miss,” Charlie told her, reaching for the coffee. “Why would you say that?”

“You two, sitting here like beaten dogs?” Chloe remarked casually. “Apparently, you think you can’t even look at me anymore, after what I just saw in the stables.”

“’Tis us who made poor impressions, Miss,” Jerry sighed.

“Rotten luck, this,” Charlie added. “Eighteen years, and Paxton never figured nothing out.”

Chloe smiled softly. “Eighteen years, huh? That’s a long time to be sneaking around.”

“Sure is, Miss Beale,” Charlie nodded. “We’ll resign in the morning, if that’s what you wish.”

Chloe shook her head firmly. “If you two resign, I might as well sell the ranch. I couldn’t run it without you. But tell me, eighteen years of sneaking around, keeping this secret… Was it worth it?”

The two men across from her shared a brief look, and hit suddenly hit Chloe how much emotion she could see in their expressions, and how much love they held in their eyes. “Absolutely, Ma’am,” they spoke, practically at the same time.

Chloe bit her lip, deep in thought. She had absolutely no issue with these men, or their feelings for one another. “No more funny business in the stables,” she told them firmly.

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Jerry told her, equally as firm. “We’d rather resign than stop loving each other.”

“Christ,” Chloe sighed. “I said, no funny business in the stables. If you’re going to do it, do it in the guesthouse. At least that place has a lock, and less nosy people running about.” With a smooth motion, she slid the key to the guesthouse across the table.

“You mean… You’re allowing us to…?”

“Who am I to decide who you can, or cannot, love?” Chloe asked. “I just want to make sure the other boys don’t find out, because that would land all of us in hot water.”

Charlie took the key, looking at it with a look of wonder. “Why would you do this? If Paxton had found us, he’d have us whipped and chased off his land.”

Chloe hummed. “But Paxton never did find you. Probably because he never considered the option. Unlike the people in this room, I do not think Paxton ever gave same-sex relations much thought.”

“Yeah, probably not,” Jerry nodded. “Wait, you said the people in this room… Does that mean…?”

Charlie punched his shoulder harshly. “You don’t go asking a lady about that, you git!” he scolded. “Especially not if said lady pays your wages and is willing to overlook certain… unconventionalities.”

Chloe chuckled, drawing their attention again. “Unconventionalities, I like that. Consider the guest house yours to use as you see fit. Now, I think you two should turn in for the night. I do expect you up and about by six, as per usual.”

As they left, Chloe could still hear them bickering.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Charlie. She and that Beca lady.”

“Yeah, yeah, but that’s none of our business.”

\--

Chloe wasn’t surprised to see Beca sitting in front of her vanity when she returned to her bedroom that night. She was also unsurprised to find her nervous, hands wringing together, mouth curled into an awkward grimace.

“That wasn’t very nice of you, Beca,” Chloe chided, even though it held no sting at all. “The boys had the fright of their lives.”

Beca bit her lip, looking around guiltily. “I know. I wasn’t even certain whether I should do it.”

Chloe hummed. “I know. I could hear it in the music.”

“Yeah,” Beca sighed. “I changed my mind, like, three times while you were walking to the stables.”

“I could hear that, too, yes,” Chloe smiled. “But everything turned out for the best. In the end, I think you did them a favour.”

Beca nodded, slowly. “I… figured as much.”

“How so?”

“You aren’t the kind of person to punish someone for standing out from the norm. I knew you wouldn’t send them away.”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Chloe told her, taking her hairbrush, only for Beca to take it from her and vacating her spot in front of the vanity.

Chloe lowered herself onto the stool gingerly, watching Beca in the mirror as the brunette began to pull the brush through Chloe’s red strands. “Why would I punish them for loving someone, even if it might be considered wrong by others?”

“Why would you deny yourself that love, then?” Beca asked softly, attention focused on Chloe’s scalp.

“So that is what this was all about,” Chloe murmured quietly. “You thought that this might open my eyes to the possibility of you and I?”

“No,” Beca responded immediately. “Although the thought did cross my mind. Mostly, I just wanted you… I wanted to show you that you are not the only one to have these feelings. Same sex couples can be found everywhere, if you only look for them. I didn’t mean to push you into anything,” Beca told her softly. “I would never push you into anything.”

“I know, Beca,” Chloe sighed. “You care too much about me to force something like this upon me.”

Beca nodded, still slowly pulling the brush through Chloe’s hair. “I just wanted you to know you’re not alone. That there are others like you and I, even here, on your own property.” Finally, Beca put the hairbrush aside. “I should leave now.”

Chloe rose from her seat, her hand clasping around Beca’s wrist. “Becs…” she muttered, voice thick with emotion. “I’m… I need some time to think about things, okay?”

“Of course, Chloe,” Beca smiled, even if it was a strained, almost pained smile.

“I’m…” Chloe started, before trailing off. “I love you.”

She was amazed by the effect those words had on Beca. The brunette’s cheeks immediately flushed, eyes sparkling as she snared her lower lip between her teeth. A soft, melodic tune began to play in the room, coming out of nowhere, making Chloe chuckle.

“We’ve known each other for more than a lifetime, how could I not love you?” Chloe smiled, taking Beca’s hands in her own. And I hate to do this to you, but I still need more time. I’m… I’m not ready yet, but I’m getting there… I just… I need you to wait for me.”

Beca’s smile never faltered, even if Chloe had just given her false hope. “I will always wait for you, Chloe,” Beca promised, pressing a kiss to their joined hands. Wrapping her arms around Chloe, Beca pulled her into a tight hug. “I love you, too, Chloe.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of Bechloe interactions in this chapter, I'm afraid.  
> All the more in the next chapter, though! ;3

_Shrewsbury, Massachusetts, 1706_

Chloe watched the group of horses being led away from her ranch. It was the first time she’d sold this many horses in one go, and she’d discovered horses to be a very lucrative business, so far. Who would’ve thought, when Chloe fled from her home over a century ago, that she would grow _richer_ rather than poorer?

She certainly hadn’t foreseen this path for herself.

Of course, she owed to success of her business largely to Jerry and Charlie, as much as she owed the success of her plantation to George in Jamaica. Beca had visited him a week ago, and reassured Chloe that everything was running smoothly there, as well.

Her eyes flicked away from the regiment of soldiers leading her horses away. They landed on Charlie and Jerry, giving the men their orders before retiring to the guest house. A few months ago, the two men had decided to make it into their home – with Chloe’s blessing, of course. Even though she condoned and supported their secret relationship, she was _very_ relieved when they loudly bickered about who would get the largest bedroom, eventually settling it by having all of the workers on the ranch vote on the matter.

Chloe knew for a fact that they shared the largest bedroom, and only kept the other bedroom for appearance’s sake. Still, their public dispute was a masterful display of manipulation and theatrics.

Steeling her resolve, Chloe set off toward their little cottage as well. It was something she’d put off for a while now, letting it gnaw away at her for months on end. It was time for her to do something about it.

She daintily knocked on the front door, even though she had a key and could let herself in if she wanted to. She was loathe to disturb their privacy like that, though.

“Miss Beale,” Charlie smiled when he opened the door for her. “Anything the matter?”

“May I come in for a minute?”

Charlie opened the door further, stepping aside to let her in. “Jerry’s in the kitchen, working on dinner,” he told her. This technically being her property, Chloe knew the way to the kitchen.

“Afternoon, Miss Beale,” Jerry smiled over his shoulder, stirring in a large pot. “Are you joining us for dinner?”

“Depends. What’s for dinner?” Chloe asked.

“Rabbit stew,” Jerry responded easily. “With um… vegetables of some kind. Truth be told, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Taking in her serious expression, both men let out a sigh in unison. “Are we in trouble, Miss Beale?”

“No,” Chloe responded quickly, sitting down at their dining table and motioning for them to do so as well. “I merely need to ask you something. It’s a personal and sensitive matter. But, considering the situation, I don’t think I need to ask for your discretion.”

Despite the fact it hadn’t been a question, both men gave solemn nods, shooting each other a quick, sideward glance.

“You two are… romantically involved,” Chloe began slowly. “And have been for a long time now. What I’d like to know is… how did it start? How did you… know? You weren’t normal, I mean.”

To her surprise, Charlie smiled softly. “It’s a complicated matter,” he began, scratching his sideburns. “But we don’t think of ourselves as anything other than normal. We know others would, of course. But we don’t know any better.”

“We met here, at the ranch,” Jerry took over, eyes looking distant. “We were… fifteen? Just started out as ranch hands for the old man. I remember all the others boys mooning over his daughter, gossiping about the things they’d do to her when we’d sit in the barn together in the evenings. Charlie here told the wildest tales of all,” he grinned.

Charlie shrugged casually. “True enough. ‘Twas my way to fit in with the others. I sure as hell didn’t feel anything for the lass, though. Didn’t even consider her attractive, for that matter. I’d never thought of a girl as pretty, and I knew I couldn’t let the other boys find out.”

“We grew out to be best buds in no time,” Jerry continued with a small smile. “Even then, I knew I wanted more, but I could never have thought Charlie here would feel the same.”

Charlie grinned roguishly, ruffling Jerry’s hair. “And then I found him-“

“She doesn’t need to hear that part of the story,” Jerry cut in sharply. “She’s a lady, Charlie. Mind your manners.”

“I was only going to say that-“

“Exactly my point,” Jerry cut him off again, earning them a snicker from Chloe. “No need to be embarrassed, boys. There isn’t a thing you two can say that would shock my sensibilities.”

“You’d be surprised,” Jerry grunted.

“I owned a sugar plantation for well over a decade,” Chloe deadpanned dryly. “I’ve heard my men talking about women, I’ve seen them fight, I’ve seen them piss in the woods, and I’ve seen them fuck in the woods, too,” Chloe responded, taking a small delight in their shocked expressions. “Society needs me to be a lady, just as much as it needs the two of you to be friends.”

Charlie was the first to recover from his shock, smiling wickedly. “Then I guess it won’t hurt to tell you I found Jerry here jacking off behind the barn, grunting my name, about a year after we met.”

Chloe shook her head with a smile. “Reckless, reckless.”

“Yeah, well, I was young and stupid,” Jerry grunted with a beet-red face.

“And now you’re just stupid, huh?” Charlie grinned, punching him in the shoulder. “Anyhoo, we ended up talking for a long time, confessing our feelings like lasses at a slumber party.”

“And here we are,” Jerry finished their tale. “Does that answer your questions?”

“Some of them,” Chloe nodded. “But how… do you do it? I don’t mean the physical act of it,” she rushed to clarify. “I needn’t know _that_. How are you together, when the entire world tells you that you cannot?”

Charlie let out a long-drawn sigh. “Before we get into that, may I ask of this is about you and Miss Beca?”

Chloe pursed her lips for a moment, before nodding. Charlie nodded, and for a moment Chloe was afraid he’d speak of how unnatural Beca was again, as he had before. Instead, he seemed in thought for a moment before speaking up again.

“She means a lot to you, then?” he asked. “Maybe more than anyone else you know?”

“Definitely,” Chloe responded readily.

Charlie nodded, as if he had expected that answer. “And is there anyone in your life that comes close to her in that regard?”

“No,” Chloe answered just as readily, before cringing. “No offense, of course.”

“None taken,” Charlie smiled easily. “Jerry’s the most important person in my life, too. And, like you said, no one comes close. Which is why only _his_ opinion matters to me. You said it yourself – Miss Beca is, by far, the most important to you. Why should you care about the opinions and prejudices of people who aren’t nearly as important as her?”

Chloe frowned as she looked out of the window. “Can it really be that easy?” she wondered out loud.

“I wouldn’t call it easy,” Jerry shrugged. “But in the end, it is only as complicated as you make it for yourself. You don’t need society to accept your feelings – in truth it’d be best if they never learned of them. You need to accept your own feelings, though, and that’s the farthest thing from easy.”

“It takes time,” Charlie continued where Jerry left off. “More so for some than others. In the end, though, you’ll realize there is no use fighting this part of yourself. It’s a fight that cannot be won, and it only makes your life more miserable as you keep fighting it.”

With a small smile, Chloe rose from her seat. “Thank you for your time. This has been… enlightening, in some ways. Very confusing in other ways, too.”

She was about to take her leave when Jerry cleared his throat, making her turn back.

“Can I ask you something, Miss Beale?”

“Naturally.”

“How old are you?” Jerry asked, eyes narrowed slightly. At Chloe’s confused look, he continued. “I’d have said you are in your twenties, going by your appearance. But ladies in their twenties don’t know as much about business, or know as much as you do in general. And then I heard you say you _owned_ a sugar plantation for over a decade… Sets a man to thinking, y’know?”

Chloe winced at the slip-up. While she was generally quite careful to keep her secret, she tended to slip up in little ways with people when she felt she could be honest and open.

Charlie sighed, shooting Jerry a half-hearted glare. “We discussed it before. But we _agreed_ not to ask you about it because it _isn’t_ any of our business,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Its fine,” Chloe sighed, sitting back down. “I should have been more careful with the truth, I suppose. You are not to blame for picking up on it. To answer your question, I was born in 1582. Which makes me one-hundred-twenty-seven years old, if my math is correct.”

She expected the men across from the table to burst out laughing, or to scold her for lying, or maybe even to throw her out of the cottage altogether. They merely sat silently, looking at her, and then at each other, and back at her again.

“How?” Charlie eventually asked, making Chloe smile.

“Remember when you told me, over a year ago now, how _unnatural_ Beca was?”

Charlie nodded, swallowing heavily.

“Well, you didn’t know the half of it,” Chloe smiled sweetly.

Without another word, she got up and left the cottage, leaving the two men sitting at their dining table, completely dumbfounded, with a pot of burning rabbit stew.

\--

_Shrewsbury, Massachusetts, 1716_

Life continued much the same for the next decade. Jerry and Charlie had accepted her age, and it was a matter never spoken of again. When, ten years later, Chloe and Beca still looked both exactly the same, there was little issue.

Charlie and Jerry didn’t call them out on it, and all the other farmhands had been replaced in the previous years. After all, it was hard work, with much heavy physical labor, and most men didn’t last more than a few years.

Chloe and Beca were still friends. Close friends – best friends, even. But only friends. Over the years, Beca’s visits had become sparser again, but she never broke her once-a-month promise, and visited at least three times most months.

Nevertheless, Chloe wasn’t blind to the pain she was delivering upon Beca by her continuing doubts. She _wanted_ them to be together, but simply couldn’t bring herself to take the leap of faith. Beca never spoke of it, never pushes her, or even so much as looked at her inappropriately. Still, Chloe noticed the glances of desire, heard the disappointed sighs, and saw the envious way she looked at Jerry and Charlie sometimes.

A knock on her front door signalled the arrival of her foremen. Chloe gave herself a once-over, deciding she looked every bit the proper lady she needed to be if she was going to do business in Boston. To her surprise, the men looked nervous when she opened the door. “Can we come in for a bit?” Charlie asked with a nervous grin.

“Office or salon?” Chloe asked as they stood in the entryway.

“What’s it matter?” Jerry asked, confused.

“She means whether we want to discuss business or personal matters, you idiot,” Charlie told him with a little shove. “And it’s both, actually.”

Chloe nodded slowly, moving them to sit on the comfortable sofa, while she took a seat in the upholstered chair near the fireplace. “I’m guessing this is not about the sale we’re hoping to make in Boston?”

“It is not,” Jerry chuckled. “You know Charlie and I are together.”

“It hadn’t escaped my attention,” Chloe told them dryly, making the men smile.

“Have been for over twenty years now,” Charlie chuckled. “We want to ask you for a… favour.”

“A pretty huge one, at that,” Jerry added in, rubbing his hand together.

“Well, this should be good,” Chloe smiled, folding her hands under her chin. “Let’s hear it, then.”

“We want to adopt a kid.”

Chloe had to do a double-take. She had _not_ seen that one coming.

“We’ve wanted to have a kid for a long time now, but it never seemed possible because of… obvious reasons.”

Chloe gave a slow nod. “But we have a home of our own now, courtesy of you. We could give some poor tyke a good life. Teach him everything about the ranch. Might even take over our position when we get too old to do our work. And seeing as _you_ don’t age…” Charlie trailed off, looking guilty at bringing it up. “We figured you might benefit from us passing our knowledge on to a new generation as well.”

“Obviously, we can’t adopt,” Jerry sighed. “We’re both single men, and our work as foremen at a horse ranch doesn’t exactly do much in the eyes of the city officials.”

Chloe caught on to their attentions. “But I, being a lady of wealth, can adopt,” she finished their thought. “Even though I am single, I will be considered a suitable parent, more than the two of you combined.”

Both men nodded sourly.

“Let me get this straight – you want me to adopt _your_ child?”

“Basically, yeah,” Charlie nodded.

Looking at their earnest faces, their hopeful expressions, Chloe felt her heart melt. She had no doubt these men would do a marvellous job at raising a child.

“Well, then, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

\--

_Boston, Massachusetts, 1717_

“You drive a hard bargain, sir,” the officer groused, shaking Charlie’s hand.

Charlie snorted, motioning over to Chloe, who was standing off to the side. “You should be glad I did the bargaining today, instead of the boss-lady.”

“If you say so,” the officer mumbled, giving Chloe a once over. “Where’s her husband?”

Charlie shrugged. “Doesn’t have one. Widow. Her man was lost at sea. I think she’s still waiting for him to come back,” he told the officer.

“Shame,” the military man grunted. “I’d have taken a shot at her, if she were available.”

Charlie clapped the man on the shoulder, before moving to meet up with Jerry and Chloe. With a crooked smile, he handed Chloe all the paperwork. “There you go, Miss Beale.”

“Nicely done,” Chloe smiled, setting off toward their next destination. Her skirts billowed with every step. Chloe loved Boston – its wide streets and stately buildings always reminded her a little of Oxfordshire, the town where she’d been born and raised. She stopped next to their carriage, surprised to find Jerry and Charlie keeping her from getting in.

“One more thing we’d like to show you before we continue, if you don’t mind?”

With a confused frown marring her face, Chloe nodded, continuing after the men as they walked for a few blocks. After a little while, they stopped in front of a tavern, where both men shuffled their feet awkwardly. “You’re taking me to a tavern at mid-day?” Chloe asked, surprise colouring her voice.

“Not just any tavern,” Jerry grinned. “Bear with us for a moment?”

With an airy sigh, Chloe allowed them to open the door for her, letting her step in. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim surroundings. When they did, it appeared to be ‘just any tavern,’ despite Jerry’s insistence it wasn’t.

It wasn’t until they were seated at a table in the corner that something strange caught Chloe’s attention. “Why isn’t anyone mingling?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Charlie responded with a look around the room. “I see lots of mingling.”

“Yes, but…” Chloe looked around. There was literally not a single table in the establishment where men and women were mingling with each other. Women were exclusively talking to women, and men only to men. “Wait…”

“This is a place for like-minded people to gather and be themselves,” Charlie smiled. “We’re regulars here.”

“You mean…” Chloe started, looking around. There were at least fifty people in here. “All these people?”

Jerry nodded. “Yeah. All of ‘em.”

“But… there’s so many!” Chloe whispered harshly.

Jerry gave a jaunty wave at a group of men he apparently knew. “There’s a lot more,” he told Chloe after a few seconds. “This place doesn’t really fill up until sun-down. And then there’s the ones that aren’t quite confident enough to come here. Or the ones who are still figuring out how they feel about themselves and their feelings.”

“This… This is a lot to take in.”

To her surprise, the men got up again, leading Chloe back to the door. “We just wanted you to know this place exists. These _people_ exist. People like us… we’re not as singular as you might think.”

“I… see that now,” Chloe muttered as they stepped into the sunlight again. “I… I’m going to need some time to wrap my head around this.”

“Of course,” Charlie nodded understandingly. “Shall we return home?”

Chloe tsk’ed. “Have you forgotten the most important stop of our trip?”

“I hadn’t,” Charlie smiled carefully. “But I wasn’t certain you’d be up for it, right now.”

Chloe tutted again. “Lead me to the orphanage, boys.”


	9. Chapter 9

_Shrewsbury, Massachusetts, 1718_

Sitting on the deck in front of her house, Chloe idly watched as Jerry instructed the newly hired men in their duties. The time had come to let a part of her workforce go again, in favour of hiring new, younger men. It had, of course, the added benefit of keeping the suspicions as to her age to a minimum.

She quirked a small smile as she watched a ten-year-old boy dashing across the yard, interrupting the assembly and startling Barker, the old farmhouse dog that disliked everyone. The boy had been living here with them for a few weeks now, and seemed to be faring quite well. Much better than he had in the orphanage, at least.

Still, Chloe was somewhat ashamed to admit she had barely so much as interacted with him after they had left the orphanage in Boston, not wanting to take the role of parent from Charlie and Jerry. “Jonathan!” she called out, female voice ringing clearly across the land. “Come here for a bit, please!”

The little boy looked startled, and Chloe felt a little guilty at his expression, which clearly belied he believed himself to be in trouble. Nevertheless, he came padding towards where she was seated. “Have a seat,” she smiled, nodding to the chair next to her own.

Jonathan did as he was told, head still hung low. “If I did something wrong, I’m very sorry, Miss Chloe,” the boy muttered sullenly.

“You’re not in trouble,” Chloe told him warmly. “Although you should be more careful not to disturb the men when they are working, alright? We’d hate to see you hurt in some silly accident, born out of distractions.”

“Yes, Miss Chloe,” Jonathan responded, finally looking up. With his short brown hair, and his startlingly blue eyes, Chloe had no trouble seeing why Jerry and Charlie had chosen him. He looked altogether entirely too adorable.

“How are you liking it here?” she asked, biting her lip in anticipation of his response.

“I’m liking it here very much, Miss,” the boy beamed. “I was a little scared of the horses at first, but they’re really nice! Today, Mr. Charlie is going to show me how to feed them. They said that, someday, I might take over their work and run this place for you!”

“Well,” Chloe smiled, “if you turn out to be as good at it as they are, I am sure you will. But there’s a lot to learn, and there’s a long time to go yet. By the time you are old enough, you might not even want to, anymore.”

The boy nodded eagerly, but was kept from answering when Charlie came trudging towards them. “There you are, Johnny!” he smiled, and Chloe couldn’t help but smile too at the expression on the man’s face. It, once again, confirmed she had made the right decision when she agreed to help aid in the adoption-scheme. “Ready to go feed the horses?”

“Yessir!” Jonathan smiled with a dorky salute, earning him a fond smile and a ruffling of his hair.

“Well, come on then. Can’t let the animals starve, can we?”

Chloe smiled, returning the boys wave as he was led away toward the stables. Tomorrow was the last day of the Beca’s self-imposed visiting deadline, and there would be a lot for the two of them to talk about. Chloe let her head fall back, closing her eyes and letting the summer sun wash over her.

She owed a lot to Jerry and Charlie. Not only did they keep her business running, they had also played an instrumental part in helping her figure out her own feelings, and coming to terms with those feelings. What had started with that one conversation, already such a long time ago, had continued when they had shown her the tavern in Boston, where she had realized her preferences were not as uncommon as she had been led to believe her entire life.

But these past few weeks had really put everything in an entirely different perspective. She had wrestled with the belief that her feelings were wrong, unnatural, and could only lead her down the wrong path in life.

But, seeing a same-sex couple like Jerry and Charlie be so happy together, and taking in an unhappy, tormented little boy and making him into the free-spirited child that was now helping out around the ranch… She simply could not believe that to be a bad thing.

It certainly had been difficult, overcoming society’s preconceived notions, which were engrained deeply even into her own mind-set. But now, finally, she felt like she and Beca could maybe move forward. Be… more than friends.

She could only hope she had not waited too long. If after all this time, Beca had grown tired of waiting…

“I really do hope it wasn’t my arrival that brought that frown about,” a familiar, teasing voice sounded from beside her, making Chloe lazily open her eyes.

“You’re here,” she smiled radiantly. As far as she was aware, she had always greeted Beca with inordinate amounts of enthusiasm. Still, apparently, something was different this time, because Beca looked genuinely taken aback at Chloe smile, as if something unexpected could be read from her face.

After knowing one another for over a century, maybe Beca really _could_ read her that easily.

Ever patient and respectful, Beca did not call her out on it, though, merely nodding as she relaxed in the chair, reaching for two steaming cups of tea that hadn’t been there a moment before. “You sound as if you hadn’t expected me to be here.”

Chloe shrugged with a guilty expression. “I suppose I might have worried for a moment.”

Beca tilted her head in confusion. “Did I do something to make you feel like I would not be keeping my promise?” she asked. “Because if that be the case, I assure you it was never my intention.”

Chloe shook her head sharply. “No, Beca. You’ve been perfect. You’ve been nothing but perfect for as long as I can remember. The fault lies with me. I suppose I feel I have not been a very good friend to you.”

At this, Beca only looked more confused. “I do not think I understand, Chloe,” she sighed after a few moments. “Whatever you believe you have done, however you might have wronged me, I assure you I have not felt it as such. To me, you are perfect in every conceivable way.”

Chloe felt a tear well up as Beca took her hand into her own. With a soft sniffle, she wiped it away. “Of course you would say that,” she murmured. “Even though I am entirely aware of your feelings toward me, and the fact that I have been keeping you at bay for over a decade now.”

Beca grinned light-heartedly, waving Chloe’s words away. “What is a decade or two, in the grand scheme of things? Even if I had to wait for another century, I would, Chloe. Even if we would never be anything more than friends, I would still be here.”

“Why?” Chloe could only stammer. “What is so special about me, that someone like you would give up everything just to be with me?”

Beca looked back at her as if that was truly a most idiotic question. “Chloe… You are everything. You have been everything since you were only a little girl. After that first meeting… I was so angry because you were too young. But even then, I knew it was you, and would always be you.”

Chloe gave up on wiping at her tears, touched to her very core by Beca’s heartfelt words.

“No, no, no, don’t cry!” Beca chanted quietly. “I never wanted to make you cry. It’s okay if you do not feel the same way, Chloe. Really!”

Chloe shook her head again, taking Beca’s hands into her own. “Beca… it’s been you since I was five. I may not have realized it then, or even for a long time after… But it has always been you, too.”

It was painful, Chloe realized, to see hope lighting up Beca’s face, only for the brunette to tamp it down again immediately, the shine dimming as her smile turned from brilliantly radiant to a more subdued version.

But Beca’s expression of complete and utter joy had been such a beautiful sight to behold, Chloe vowed to herself she would do everything in her power to get to see it more often. That, and the beginnings of a melody that reminded her of beautiful spring days. The moment Beca had tamped down her hopes, the melody had died with it.

Wordlessly, she got to her feet, never letting go of Beca’s hands and ignoring her questioning stare. She noticed Charlie and Jerry giving her encouraging nods as she turned towards the door, pulling Beca along with her. When the door slammed close behind them, it drowned out the sounds coming from outside. The very moment it did, Chloe turned on her heels, trapping Beca between her and the door.

Quite frankly, the sudden closeness was exhilarating. Chloe had wanted to do this for so long, but never allowed herself to indulge, or even to consider indulging. Now they were standing close enough for Chloe to count every eyelash, to feel the hot, startled breath Beca puffed out, the warmth washing over her own face.

“Chlo…” Beca whined pitifully, voice sounding strangled and uncertain. “What are we…”

“Shh,” Chloe shushed her, pressing her finger to Beca’s lips which were exactly as soft as Chloe remembered from that one kiss, long ago in Kingston. “It is okay, Beca.”

The brunette nodded, though the question remained, burning in those deep-blue eyes.

“You have been so patient with me,” Chloe whispered, moving in even closer, allowing their noses to rub together. “And I could not be more grateful, Beca. But you needn’t be patient anymore. You have waited long enough.”

And with those words, Chloe closed the last inches of distance, softly pressing her lips to Beca’s. A true symphony seemed to whirl around them as their lips connected. As seconds ticked by, the music grew louder and more intense, until Chloe felt her hair move in a non-existent breeze.

All in all, Chloe reckoned their kiss did not amount to much. It was nothing but a chaste press of their lips against each other, but when she pulled back, she found Beca looking at her with an expression that bled adoration, love, and a frightening amount of contentment.

Biting her lip, Chloe suddenly felt bashful. Beca had, undoubtedly, waited for this kiss for years, and she couldn’t help but feel she, possibly, did not live up to certain expectations.

“I love you, Chloe Beale,” Beca breathed out after a few seconds, wrapping her arms around the redhead’s waist. “Can I… Could we do that again?”

Releasing her lip from between her teeth, Chloe cradled Beca’s face in her hands, angling her head a little for easier access, and moving in again. Clearly, Beca had been overwhelmed by the previous kiss, rendered unable to act in time. This time, Beca appeared ready, the press of her lips more insistent.

Chloe burst into a giggle when she pulled away, and Beca eagerly followed, connecting their lips again and again. Beca chuckled guiltily, scratching the side of her nose. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I got a little enthusiastic.”

“Oh, don’t apologize,” Chloe smiled. “I like your enthusiasm. But we have all night, and tomorrow, and the rest of our lives. We don’t have to cram all of our kisses in one night.”

“All of our lives,” Beca mused, pushing off from the door and leading them towards the salon. “I like the sound of that.”

“Not to mention the fact we do not age,” Chloe grinned, faintly noticing the cheerful tune still sounding around them. With a raised eyebrow, she made a vague gesture. It took Beca a second to get the message, and then she laughed, loudly.

“Sorry, I’m just really happy right now,” she grinned. “I can stop it, though it would take some concentration.”

Chloe shook her head, still smiling as well. “No, Beca. It doesn’t bother me at all.”

“It does not?”

“Beca, my love, how could your happiness ever be a bother to me?”

\--

Kissing Beca was unlike anything Chloe had ever experienced. It was something she could do endlessly, and had oxygen and sustenance not been vital for their well-being, she imagined she would.

They had been seated on the sofa, kissing, and talking, and kissing. And as much as Chloe was enjoying the intimacy of it all, and the fact that Beca seemed happier than she had _ever_ seen her, there was some nagging thought in the back of her mind that kept bothering her.

Beca was being perfect. Despite finally getting her desires fulfilled, she was the epitome of respect and patience, never pushing, never deepening the kiss, never letting herself go, and lose control. Chloe appreciated the effort the brunette had to have been putting in, but quickly came to realize something else, too.

Maybe she _wanted_ Beca to let go, to lose control.

Deciding to take matters into her own hands, Chloe moved one of her hands to the back of Beca’s neck, gripping the fine hairs there to keep Beca from escaping. Her other hand, meanwhile, pushed against her shoulder to make the brunette lean back on the sofa, allowing Chloe to hover over her.

In this new position, Chloe could easily press in to deepen the kiss, drawing a subdued whimper from Beca as the music around the picked up in pace and volume. Still, she felt Beca practically vibrate with the effort of containing her amorous affections.

Deciding to be bold, Chloe parted her lips, running her tongue across the seam of Beca’s lips. She revelled in the low, keening moan Beca let out as she parted her lips slightly. Chloe echoed the sound when she felt Beca’s tongue, ever-so carefully flitting out, touching her own with its moist warmth before it darted away again.

To her immense dismay, Chloe felt Beca’s hand pressing against her shoulder. She wanted to continue what they had only just started, but she would not force herself upon the brunette. With a disappointed sigh, she pulled back.

Her disappointment must have been visible on her face, because Beca stroked across her cheek with clear adoration, cradling her face in both hands for a moment. “You are so amazing, Chloe,” she whispered. “I could keep doing that with you all day, but I don’t want to scare you away by going too fast.”

Chloe did not bother hiding her exasperated grin. “Beca, right now, I think we’re going far too slow. I am not ready for us to make love, but I do want to keep kissing you.”

“But-“

“Beca,” Chloe interrupted sternly. “I know you want this. You really need to stop fighting this, and let yourself go.”

“I don’t…” Beca started, looking torn between her desire and a self-imposed responsibility. “I don’t want to hurt you, somehow.”

“Beca, you would never,” Chloe told her with complete conviction. “And I promise I will slow us down when we go too fast, just as much as I am trying to speed us up, now that I feel you’re being unnecessarily difficult.”

Beca looked into her eyes for several long seconds, seemingly gauging the validity of Chloe’s statement. Then, she gave a slow nod, snaking her arm around Chloe’s waist and pulling their bodies closer together.

With a pleased hum, Chloe leaned in, parting her lips when she felt Beca do the same, and allowing their tongues to brush together. This was infinitely better than the anxious little brush of their tongues before. Now, their kiss was lush and leisurely, filled with desire and curiosity and all of Beca’s pent-up passion.

A low moan escaped her throat as Beca pushed her backwards, following without ever disconnecting their mouths. Before she knew it, Chloe was lying on her back, with Beca hovering over her, one hand tangled in her hair, the other clutching at her hip, fingers tracing idle patterns over the fabric of her dress.

Chloe acted entirely on instinct, having zero experience in this regard to lead her. However, Beca was making small sounds of contentment as she lowered the weight of her body to rest on Chloe’s, their tongues entwined, hands tangled into each other’s hair and clothing, and breathing becoming increasingly ragged.

Despite the heavy breathing, every time either of them would move back a little to catch their breath, the other would immediately swoop in to resume their kiss. Chloe was certainly beginning to feel the effects of this kiss, if it could even still be called as such, in her stomach, and in the area between her legs.

She was about to pull back when she felt Beca’s teeth taking a hold of her bottom lip, giving it a teasing nip and pulling on it softly as the brunette pulled away. The sound pulled a strangled groan out of Chloe, which Beca answered with a deep, rumbling moan of her own.

Chloe figured it was a small miracle they could even still hear these moans and groans, with the music surrounding them seemingly loud enough to be heard all the way in Boston. Nevertheless, Chloe did not experience it as jarring. It simply seemed to be a part of their world. No matter what, music had always been a part of Beca, even if it had been growing more and more absent over the past few decades.

Now, however, it had returned in abundance.

“Maybe we should consider leaving it at this?” Beca asked after a few beats of silence, the music’s volume lowering just a smidge. “For now, I mean.”

Chloe gave a breathless nod. “That might be best, yes. I do intend to have another go at this later tonight, though. After I’ve gotten back control of my breathing.”

“I’d like that,” Beca smiled, tucking a misplaced strand of hair behind Chloe’s ear. “You’re so beautiful…”

“Will you stay the night?” Chloe asked.

“If you want me to,” Beca smiled, even if it was with a bit of a tight edge to it.

“I do,” Chloe nodded. “But only if you want to as well. We’ve never slept in one bed before. Come to think of it, I have never seen you sleep at all, have I?”

“No,” Beca told her. “You have not. I don’t sleep.”

“What do you mean, you don’t sleep? Everyone sleeps sometimes?”

“I don’t,” Beca shrugged uneasily. “Don’t think I ever have.”

“So… what do you do at night, then?” Chloe asked, completely dumbfounded.

Beca shrugged again. “Usually, I go someplace where it isn’t night. Sometimes, I just… I don’t know, wander around or whatever.”

Now, Chloe found herself frowning as well. “Then I suppose I shall have to let you leave tonight. It would not be fair for me to expect you to keep me company all night while I’m asleep, if you’re going to be awake the whole time.”

Beca rolled her eyes with a fond smile. “Being close to you, even if you would be asleep, would be nice. If you want, you can sidle up to me tonight and use me as a pillow.”

Chloe smiled brilliantly. “I definitely want,” she told her with a wink.


End file.
